The Christine Series
by OpheliaKitt
Summary: In the midst of the adventure and danger of 17th century France, there's always a chance for love... An episodic Romance, true to the characters, not the events of the series.
1. Trouble, Ch 1

Trouble: Chapter 1

The marketplace was crowded and the man was distracted as he stood at the stall discussing fruit with the vendor. He didn't seem to mind or notice the two boys that hovered near him – there were always children running about the marketplace.

He didn't see the way their hands had twitched as he stowed his purse in the pocket of his doublet – the bag's mouth just visible. The younger boy, no more than nine tugged at his companion's sleeve. The other was tall, and about twelve. Both wore old tattered clothes that had been repeatedly repaired and both looked as though they could use a good bath and a few good meals.

The younger boy glanced around the market again and gave another tug to the sleeve of his companion. The older boy raised his hands. If they were to eat that night, he had to act. His hand reached forward, eyes focused on the purse.

"I wouldn't," said a soft voice as he felt a firm tug on his earlobe. He and his friend swung around at the slight pressure to face their captor.

The man too turned at the commotion and his jaw nearly fell open when he beheld his saviour. "Uh-oh," thought the man. "This could be trouble."

"You might want to watch your purse, sir," she said. "You nearly dropped it."

The woman was beautiful – very beautiful – and even the musketeer, who was well versed in beautiful women was struck by it as she led the two boys by the earlobes away from the stall. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely and elegantly from her shoulders. She wore a simple yet fashionable gown that was unadorned save for the delicate silver chain he had noticed around her neck. She must be an angel, he thought, because there was no way such beauty could be mortal.

He approached the trio as she crouched to speak to the boys, relinquishing their earlobes.

"Now," she said, "Tell me, boys, why were you about to rob that man?"

The boys exchanged wary glances before the younger one spoke. "We didn't want to," he said tearfully, "We were just hungry!"

"There are too many of us at the orphanage. Sometimes we need to fend for ourselves," defended the older one, a slight defiance in his voice.

Nodding she said, "It seems to me that good busy hands like yours would do better with a meal and a job, than with robbing musketeers. What are your names?" she asked, sternly, but kindly.

"Marcus," whispered the younger, his hand consoling his sore earlobe.

"Victor," said the elder.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," she said. "I'm newly arrived to Paris and I believe the household is in need of two strong stable boys. If you will work hard, I can promise you, your bellies will never be empty and you'll be paid a fair wage. What do you say?"

The boys looked at each other, eyes round. They looked back at the woman and both nodded slowly.

"Excellent," she said, beaming at them. "Go to 21 rue St. Germain, the one with the blue door and speak to Marcel at the stables. Tell him, honestly, everything that happened and he will see that you're fed…and maybe given a bath?" she said as they both grinned up at her.

"Th-thank you, Mademoiselle," stammered Victor as he pushed Marcus from the marketplace. Both boys were in awe and to be honest, so was the man who had witnessed the whole scene. It was rare that pickpockets in Paris were met with more than scorn, let alone understanding and an offer of a job.

The woman straightened the fold in her skirt, and catching the eye of the musketeer, she blushed.

"Please," she said, "I know it is your duty to report them, but they are so young, and they were just hungry…"

He stared into the eyes of the woman and smiled. Her eyes were that rare combination of grey tinged with blue that sparkled like opals. They reminded him of the sky before a storm at the coastal village where his mother had lived.

"It seems that you are not only my saviour this morning, but theirs as well," he said and smiled more broadly as she blushed a little deeper, but returned his smile.

"I didn't know that musketeers made it a habit of being so vulnerable in the marketplace," she challenged him, as she began to move among the stalls, the man following at her side.

Catching her eye he smirked. "I may know those boys…and I may have been aware of their presence. So I may not have been as careful when stowing my purse…" he said a little conspiratorially. They stopped at the flower stall where the woman examined some irises. He plucked one, passing a coin to the vendor.

"They are good boys," he said, presenting her with the flower. "This is the first time I have seen them tempted to steal. If Victor had acted on it, I would have stopped him…but luckily, as I said, I had a saviour present."

She smiled at the musketeer as she took the flower from him, a light of adventure in her eyes as they continued across the market.

"Tell me, monsieur musketeer, I am new to Paris and have been asked to pick up a dessert for a dinner party at the household. Could you recommend a good patisserie?" she asked.

He grinned again as he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her toward a curtain framed window. Neither commented on the buzz that echoed through their bodies at the touch.

"The gateau du chocolat from Madame La Crue is the best in all of Paris. I'm sure your dinner guests will love it," he said.

Laughing, she turned to face him. "Thank you, musketeer. I think that you have now saved me! I wonder," she said smiling at the handsome man before her, "as I am new here, I would appreciate a knowledgeable tour guide who could help me maybe get my bearings in the city. Would you be interested in filling the position?" she asked, knowing his answer.

"I would be honoured," he said, bowing to her slightly, his dark eyes fixed on her lighter ones from beneath the brim of his hat. She in return curtsied slightly, the heat on her cheeks and the tightness in her chest equal to the musketeer's. The sounds of the market disappeared around them for that moment as he tried to memorize the freckles that lightly dusted her cheeks. There could have been no one else on the planet in that moment as he bowed to her and she curtsied to him and both lost themselves in the eyes of a stranger.

"Miss…?" he asked softly, breaking the spell.

"You can call me Christine," she said, smiling.

"Christine," he said, savouring the taste of the word. "I'm Aramis."

oOo


	2. Trouble, Ch 2

Trouble: Ch. 2

Aramis wasn't sure how he got back to the garrison. He may have sprouted wings and flown there for all he could remember. All he could think of were her eyes and the shape of her lips and the sound of her laugh. He could have sworn that his hand still tingled slightly from when he had touched her.

He entered the garrison courtyard and dropped himself down at their regular table and poured himself a glass of water to hopefully prevent his heart from fluttering out of his chest. What was happening to him?

"Where've you been?" asked Porthos, striding over to him with D'Artagnan in tow, both a little sweaty and breathless and dressed in practice garb.

"Meeting an angel in the marketplace," he responded.

"Another one?" asked D'Artagnan, smirking at the marksman as he gulped down a glass of water.

Aramis grinned, "Unlike any other! She saved me from a pair of pickpockets and then offered them a job!" He launched into the story of his morning, minutely detailing the way her skirt rustled as they moved about the market and the way her hair smelled – like mint and lavender – as the breeze blew an errant strand to where it rested upon her collarbone.

Porthos and D'Artagnan grinned at their friend. They had witnessed Aramis "in love" many times before. Something at the back of his mind though warned Porthos that this time might be different. There was something in his eyes that warned Porthos of trouble. He'd have to be on alert.

"I'm telling you gentlemen, if she's not an angel sent from heaven, I'll eat my hat!" Aramis declared as Athos joined them.

"Then I'll take it you have dinner plans for tomorrow evening?" he quipped as the others laughed.

"What's happening tomorrow evening?" asked D'Artagnan.

"We've been invited to dine with the Comtesse des Etoiles," replied Athos. "She is an old friend of mine that I knew as a lad. We were very close," he said, a little awkwardly as memories of his past flashed through his mind. "She is new to Paris. I trust you will all be on your best behaviour?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his brothers.

"Why would you even need to ask?" replied Aramis grinning.

Athos rolled his eyes at the three mischievous faces that grinned back at him.

oOo

The following evening, Aramis was still walking on clouds as he trailed behind his brothers through one of Paris' statelier neighbourhoods on their way to dine with the Comtesse. Athos, D'Artgnan and Porthos had already entered and been introduced as Aramis strode past the blue front door and removed his hat.

"And this," said Athos "is –"

"Aramis!" laughed a voice that made Aramis' heart leap in his chest.

"Christine," he said and bowed to her, placing his hat over his chest to muffle the sound of his heart pounding.

"I see you two have met?" asked Athos, his eyes narrowed at the marksman.

Aramis grinned sheepishly up at him. "Christine – the Comtesse," he corrected, "was the good Samaritan who saved me from thieves in the marketplace. I did not know she was a comtesse at the time…"

Christine laughed, the sound tinkling like bells in Aramis' ears. "Please, Aramis, we are friends now. Christine. Never comtesse, please, or else I shall have to call you all by your positions as well, and it's bound to be confusing with four musketeers present," she said. "I'm so glad you could join me. Come," she said, pulling her bright eyes away from Aramis, "let's eat. Your friends are awaiting us." She smiled again at Aramis, who gave her a subtle wink as she took Athos by the arm and led him into the parlour.

Dinner was a wonderful, loud and laughter-filled affair. Aramis found himself seated next to Christine, their arms grazing from time to time, but each time it felt like being singed by lighting as their eyes flashed at each other in a dance of their own.

Course followed course as Christine laughed at the stories the men took turns in recounting of their adventures with the Musketeers.

After another glass of wine, D'Artagnan looked to the comtesse and gesturing towards Athos he asked, "How is that the two of you know each other?"

Christine smiled at the Gascon. "You mean he hasn't told you?"

"To be honest," said Porthos, "When he said we was meeting an old friend who was a comtesse, we was expecting someone a little different…"

"Were you expecting an old dowager in too much lace?" she asked teasingly.

Porthos grinned.

"To be fair, I never said you were old. I simply said I had known you when I was a child," said Athos. "It has been many years since we've seen each other."

She smiled warmly at him, and Aramis couldn't help but feel a slight tickle of jealousy on the back of his neck.

"Well?" asked d'Artagnan again.

Christine laughed again. "Well," she said taking a sip of her wine. "Athos and I were once almost betrothed," she said as the men fell silent around her, mouths gaping open.

Athos smirked and took a drink from his glass. "You were eight," he said.

"That's beside the point," she rejoined as the other three laughed.

"Our families were neighbouring nobility, you see, and as I'm sure you know, nobles tend to breed their children like horses," said Athos.

"Our fathers were distant cousins. We grew up together, being one of the few noble families in proximity. Athos would often spend weeks with us in the summers. We learned to ride and to fence together," she said.

"You know how to handle a rapier?" asked D'Artagnan, his eyes wide.

Christine grinned. "The pointy end goes in the bad guy," she responded to which the men again all laughed.

"As I recall," said Athos, "You were quite good even then. It made me nervous. And you were always an excellent shot."

She laughed, "I also speak four languages, Spanish and Italian among them."

"Well?" D'Artagnan prompted again.

"Well," said Christine sighing. "As you can imagine we grew quite close. So close in fact that when our parents approached us about the potential of one day marrying, I ran away and hid in the woods for three days. It was Athos who eventually found me."

Athos smirked slightly. "Christine and I were like siblings you see. Marriage would have been unnatural; a disaster."

"We promised each other that we would never marry unless it was for the most profound love," she said. "Athos did give me my first kiss though," she finished with a grin.

"Only because you forced me to," he said, an uncharacteristic tinge of pink brightening the man's cheeks.

"I just wanted to see what the fuss was about," she explained as Porthos and D'Artagnan roared with laughter. Aramis chuckled softly. His emotions and loyalties were engaged in combat as he listened to the story. Christine shifted slightly in her chair, her body pressing unperceptively to the others against his.

"A few years later my mother died suddenly. My father, overcome with grief, left France with me. We travelled Italy, Spain, and England. I secretly served a bit myself as a field nurse in the Huguenots' uprising. About a year ago, when my father grew ill, we returned to France so he could be buried next to my mother."

"I am sorry to hear about your father," said Athos. "He was a good man."

"Thank you," she said, "He loved you very much." Her face sobered as her grey clouded eyes searched Athos.

"We had no news about what happened to you, that Thomas had died, until we returned to France. I would have written had I known," she said desperately, her eyes suddenly damp as she looked at the swordsman. He nodded, sadly, and looked away. Seeing her again had brought back the more joyful memories of his past. He knew it was only a matter of time until the painful ones would show their grim faces once more.

Porthos cleared his throat and the air in the room. "So how long are ya plannin' on stayin' in Paris?" he asked. His eyes were studying the marksman who perked up a little at the question. He had been watching him closely throughout the meal.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I have been on my own for a year now, but have only just summoned the courage to return to Paris. I haven't presented myself at court yet so I'll be glad for any advice you could offer," she said smiling warmly at the big musketeer.

The servants entered carrying dessert – a decadent piece of chocolate cake was set before each of them.

"Is that Madame La Crue's?" asked Porthos, mouth watering

"I was told it's the best," she said turning to Aramis. "Because of that, I insist that you try the first piece," she said, and taking her fork in hand, she offered the marksman a bite from her plate, smiling as she stared into the richer chocolate eyes of the marksman.

"Uh-oh," thought Porthos. "This could be trouble."

Aramis straightened his shoulders and leaning forward slightly, their eye contact unwavering, he ate the cake from her fork. She giggled and he chuckled softly.

"Delicious," he said and grinned.

"Excellent!" she said brightly, suddenly aware once more of the others in the room. "Please, enjoy!" she said as she in turn tried her cake.

Next to her Aramis was still grinning as he picked up his own fork, no bite as sweet as the one she had offered him from her own plate.

The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly and it was nearly midnight when the musketeers stood to rise, with the Comtesse laughing and promising to have them back again soon and often.

Athos stood at the doorway before following D'Artagnan and Porthos out.

"It is good to see you again," he said.

"And you as well, brother. There is a lot I want to ask you, to know how you are, how you have been…to hear you laugh again –"

"Perhaps another evening," he said, bowing slightly with a smile as he exited through the door.

Suddenly it was just Christine and Aramis standing in the front foyer.

"I did not realize you were a comtesse," he said as he toyed with the hat in his hands.

"Would it have made a difference if I were the serving girl or the comtesse?" she asked stepping towards him and taking his hand in hers.

"Not for a moment," Aramis said smiling. They stood there for a long moment, their eyes drinking each other in.

"Aramis," called Athos from the front.

Aramis stepped backwards out the door and onto the front step, still holding her hand in his. He questioned whether his body would allow him to let go.

"Are you still willing to act as my guide to the city?" she asked.

"I would love nothing more," said the marksman.

"Nor I," she replied as he bowed slightly and lightly kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Uh-oh," said D'Artagnan from where he and Porthos stood near the street, witnessing the action on the step. "This could be trouble."

"For her?" asked Porthos out of the side of his mouth.

"For him too," replied the young man, confirming what the brawler already had guessed.


	3. Trouble, Ch 3

Trouble: Chapter 3

The clash of steel could be heard echoing from the practice yard.

D'Artagnan and Porthos sat on the edge and watched nervously. Some others paused to watch the swordsman and marksman spar as well. Even Treville glanced down to see two of his best circling in their deadly dance, blades flying in a practised elegance that belied, what in battle, could be killing blows.

"You never mentioned Christine before," said Aramis, driving Athos back a step with a quick swipe of his sword.

"I never mention my past," Athos said bluntly, as Aramis continued his attack.

"We just had no idea you were so close. Like a brother and a sister," he said with a lunge.

Athos blocked that and stepping forward reversed their positions.

"I haven't seen her for twelve years," he said. "The Comtesse is one of the kindest, warmest, most intelligent women I have ever known," he said, pushing the marksman back with his own series of attacks. "If anyone were ever to hurt her," he said, as Aramis' sword came up to meet his own and they were paused in their match as irresistible force met unmovable object, "I'd kill them."

With that the two men drew away panting. Porthos and D'Artagnan, clapping along with the men who had stopped to watch the excellent display of swordsmanship, stepped forward, being the only two privy to the deeper context of the exchange that had taken place. Aramis grinned and taking the glass of water Porthos handed him, he raised it to Athos, who raised his to meet his brother's as they downed their contents.

oOo

Sitting in her library, Christine closed her book as her maid, Marie, entered the room.

"So?" she asked eagerly as the young woman sat down. "What did you learn?"

"I learned he is very handsome," said the girl as she struggled to remove her cloak.

"Well a duck would know that," teased the Comtesse as she helped Marie from her cloak.

"Aramis is said to be one of the best men in the King's Musketeers and one of the longest serving. His companions, Porthos, D'Artagnan and Athos and he are close. More like brothers really, it's said. He is kind and generous and he serves as the regiment's medic as well so it proves he's clever too mistress," she said and then worried her lip.

Christine took the girl's hand. "Yes he's handsome and kind and clever. These things I know. What's worrying you?" she asked.

"It is said," began the maidservant nervously, "That Monsieur Aramis has had many lovers," she said quietly, her eyes not meeting her mistress', "and he is not from a noble family."

"Thank you," said Christine smiling. She placed her hand on top of Marie's. "All these things I knew or surmised. Do you think he is a good man?" she asked the girl, bluntly.

"I do," she said firmly, and without hesitation.

"Then that's all that matters and all I truly need to know." said Christine, smiling warmly.

oOo

It was nearly the noon hour when Aramis strode up the rue St Germain carrying a bouquet of irises.

As he entered the home's large courtyard he heard the whinny of a horse. He followed the sound to see Victor standing next to a magnificent dappled grey stallion.

"Easy Peg, easy," said the boy as he brushed the stallion's forelock.

"Peg?" asked Aramis as he reached out to pat the horse's nose.

"For Pegasus," answered Victor. "That's Phil. Philomena." He said, indicating the beautiful brown mare that Marcus and an older gentleman, Aramis guessed was Marcel, were leading out.

"Hello Aramis!" called Marcus, waving at the marksman.

"Hello," he said, extending his hand to the older man. "Sorry to interrupt. I just came by to see how the boys had settled in," he said.

"These ones? They're doing fine. Might eat the mistress out of house and home, but we're happy to have 'em. I'm assuming you didn't bring those pretty buds for me though?" asked the old man, eyebrow raised, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Aramis grinned as the two boys snickered.

"She'll like them," said the old man. "Irises are her favourite. Go on," he said. "Best not to keep a lady waiting, boys," the old man instructed.

"Yes Marcel," the two boys responded.

"Yes Marcel," Aramis echoed with a wink and a tip of his hat.

Christine greeted Aramis warmly, if a little shyly at the front door. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the irises and plucking one from the bouquet, she pinned it to the lapel of the musketeer's doublet.

"Thank you," she gushed. "That was very unnecessary."

"If it earned me a smile like that, it was worth it," he said, and with a smile as she stood close to him, his lapel still in her hand, all shyness was lost.

She beamed at him. "Shall we?" she asked suggestively raising her chin and an eyebrow, her eyes bright, almost daring.

Aramis hesitated, staring at the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the arc of her lips. He shook himself to remind himself to breathe, and grinning, he stepped back off the step and offered her his arm as they made their way back out onto the streets of Paris.

oOo

Christine had come to maturity in the courts of England and Italy, but the winding streets of Paris were full of an energy she could almost taste. The pair talked intimately and excitedly about everything and nothing. It felt to Christine as if she had known Aramis for a lifetime – her earlier slight apprehensions of letting a strange man guide her around a strange city were forgotten when he smiled at her from her doorstep.

"Marcus and Victor seem to be settling in quite well with Marcel," said Aramis as they continued to walk the city streets.

"Yes," she said beaming. "I'm not sure who's happiest with the arrangement, Marcel or the boys?"

"Or yourself?" he asked teasingly, to which she laughed.

"I was in a similar situation when I was about Marcus' age," said Aramis softly.

"You weren't raised by your mother?" Christine asked, looking up at the man.

"For a time, yes," he said sadly. "My mother was…a courtesan. My father was a minor noble whose family whisked him away when they found out that my parents were in love. My mother loved me and raised me at the brothel, where I was spoiled rotten. She grew very sick and died when I was about ten." He said, pausing to remember his mother. He was shocked by how comfortable and easy talking to this woman was. It was rare that he spoke openly about his mother, but he felt as though he could hold nothing back from her and knew she could be trusted with his darkest secrets.

Christine gave his arm a tight squeeze. "We are always too young to lose our mothers," she said simply. Her eyes were soft and full of empathy and understanding for the marksman; she too knew the pain of a child losing their mother. He smiled sadly at her and nodded.

"After my mother died, I lived in the orphanage for a while until my father came to collect me. His family had hidden my existence from him until he learned of my mother's death. I was twelve when he finally came for me, and nearly a man, in my own eyes. My father and I…didn't quite see eye to eye. I ran away when I was about sixteen and enlisted in the army."

"Sixteen! You were only a child!"

Aramis shrugged and smiled at her. "I had a bit of a natural ability with a sword and the medical knowledge I had picked up kept me alive. I will always be grateful to my father though for teaching me to shoot. It was my ability with a musket that made me valuable and eventually led me to Treville and the Musketeers," he said with a smile.

The smile turned into a slight frown as he looked up at the large clouds that had formed as they wandered through the day.

"I should escort you home before it begins to rain," he said covering her hand in his and giving it a slight squeeze. No sooner had he said the words than the first few drops of rain began to fall. The pair ran to take shelter under the stone archway of a building.

Laughing, Christine said, "I had no idea Musketeers were so frightened of the rain," she teased.

Aramis shushed her, grinning. "Sh! That's our secret. Once wet we turn into frogs – making it difficult to handle a rapier when in need…"

He had taken off his hat and the moisture had brought a lock of hair forward on his forehead. Laughing, Christine reached up to brush the hair away.

Aramis caught her wrist as she made to lower it. A wagon rumbled by very quickly and he turned to protect her from the wheel's spray.

They were very close now. Her wrist, still encircled in his hand was now pressed against his chest where her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt collar. They drew even closer under the archway, their bodies touching, the rain falling lightly just beyond them. She lifted her chin towards him, his dark eyes devouring her light ones. He raised his other hand and gently brushed a strand of hair back and behind her ear, then, as his fingers entwined in her dark hair, he kissed her, and she kissed him.

And the world stopped.

And she kissed him and he kissed her.

And time stood still.

Someone shouted something incoherent and something crashed in the distance and life resumed as they drew apart.

He dropped his head so their brows touched. His hand was still entwined in her hair. They both were breathing deeply, trying to absorb as much of the other person as possible in that moment. Aramis pulled his head back, her face still cupped in his hand, his fingers still in her hair, her hand still pressed against his chest, her fingers still grasping his shirt.

"I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you," he whispered and her eyes glowed. "It looks like the rain is stopping," he said, but made no effort to move from their embrace.

"But it could start again at any moment," she said and pulling him close, she kissed him again. And he kissed her.

oOo


	4. Trouble, Ch 4

Trouble, Chapter 4

The next few days that passed were the most blissful that Aramis could remember. Christine was well received by the King who was enthralled by her beauty and the model ships she presented him as a gift, and he asked her endless questions about the courts of England, Spain, and Italy. Aramis smiled encouragingly at her from his guard position, and she beamed in his direction when the King was distracted.

They met in secret and in public, desperate to spend every moment possible together, but neither openly admitting what this was quickly becoming – and if they couldn't name it, then there was no reason to tell Athos, they decided.

Their romance was powerful, and as Aramis kissed her goodbye each evening before returning to his own apartments, their attraction grew. Their adoration grew.

It was several weeks after that first kiss in the rain when Aramis and Christine were once again caught out in a storm. They rode Philomena and Aramis' mare into the stables, laughing as the rain splashed around them. He pressed her against the post in the stables and kissed her passionately. She laughed and pushed him backwards.

"We're soaking," she said, grabbing his hand. "Come inside and let's dry you off. I think there may be some spare shirts of fathers that you could wear," she said. She pressed herself against him and kissed him again and then pulled him into the house after her. She led him up to the library that adjoined her bedroom where a large fire burned in the hearth.

"Here," she said passing him a dry white shirt. "Hang your shirt by the hearth so it will dry," she said, laughing once more as she retreated to her chamber.

Aramis stood there in front of the fire, and took off his doublet and hung it on the back of a chair. Christine had left her chamber door ajar. Aramis wanted to look away but he couldn't as he saw her beginning to undress. Her dress fell away to reveal a pale blue shift beneath. She pulled her sodden hair back and off of her shoulders, the moisture glistening like stardust on her pale skin.

She was too beautiful to believe. Aramis turned away and returned to the fire, feeling like Acteon who had gazed upon Diana.

Christine wiped the moisture from her face and through the reflection in her mirror, saw Aramis as he stood before the fire. His damp shirt clung to his chest as he removed the braces from his shoulder. He took off the damp shirt and hung it near the fire. He shook his dark hair, running his fingers through his unruly curls. The rainwater had left sparkling trails where it had worked its way down his chest and torso.

Quietly she moved towards the door. Aramis stood in the library glistening from the rainwater. He reached for the shirt that had been provided for him but Christine stopped his hand. She stood before him in her light blue shift, the damp material clinging to her body. Slowly, she took a step towards him, their fingers interlocking.

They met as one in a passionate embrace, bodies yearning for each other. They were willingly helpless against the forces pulling them together.

"I love you," he said panting as he held her damp body in his arms. She kissed him passionately again and again and again, pressing him tighter against her body. She kissed his mouth as he carried her into the bedroom, her fingers tangled in his hair.

oOo

They lay there in peaceful ecstasy, their naked bodies pressed against each other as she lay across his chest and he traced his fingers along her back. Looking up at him, she smiled, and kissed him again, resting her head upon his heart. His left hand brought hers to his lips as the right continued to navigate its way up her back.

"We have to tell Athos," he said, kissing her fingertips.

"We will," she agreed, "but not yet. Can't this just be ours for a bit longer?" she asked.

Happily, Aramis agreed as he pulled her close, "Te amo con todo mi corazón," he whispered.

"y te amo, mi Tesoro," she responded as she ran her hand along his face.

Aramis' face lit up at these words – words he had not heard for years. He kissed her deeply once again, their hands and their bodies expressing so much more than just their words.

oOo

Aramis stood at the doorway with her arms wrapped around his neck. He might be late for the morning's muster, but she was worth whatever scolding or punishment Treville felt appropriate. It had been weeks since he had told her he loved her, and their bodies reaffirmed that vow each night. Leaving her bedside each morning soon became Aramis' least favourite part of the day, and so he had been late for several morning musters already.

Porthos and D'Artagnan knew about their love affair, but Athos was still in the dark about Aramis' new mystery lover that had so engulfed his companion. Porthos and D'Artagnan had covered for the pair as best they could, but they were growing weary of deceiving their brother.

"We will tell him tomorrow. At dinner," Christine promised Aramis as she held him in her arms. She loved the feeling of his hands around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. He kissed her deeply and she had to steady herself a little against the doorframe as he pulled away.

"I'll see you later," he said, and with a wink and a tip of his hat, he mounted his horse and rode out of the courtyard.

oOo

Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan were standing in their shirtsleeves watching Athos instructing the cadets as Christine came through the garrison gates carrying a basket.

"I've brought something sweet for you," she said to the men, revealing the large basket of plums. "I thought Serge might enjoy these."

"And have you brought something sweet for me?" asked Aramis as he stood and kissed the inside of her wrist. She blushed and smiled at him. Porthos cleared his throat and the pair separated as Athos' voice carried their way.

"That looks like fun," she said as she picked up a rapier and parrying dagger and entered the practice ring.

The three men at the table looked shocked, as did the cadets gathered around.

"It is important to never underestimate your opponent, and block out distraction," said Athos as he smirked at Christine who stood at ready before him.

Instantly she went on the offensive, delivering deadly strokes amid the swirl of her skirts. Jaws fell open upon witnessing the skill with which she wielded the blade.

"Five livres on Athos," said Porthos.

"Done," said Aramis as he watched his beloved battle his brother.

The momentum had shifted and Athos was on the attack now. After a quick few moves, Christine spun in close and Athos paused his blow just before it made contact with her neck. Laughing, she stepped back to show the parrying dagger poised at Athos' midsection. It hadn't been noticed in the rustling and flourishing of the fabric in her dress.

Athos grinned at Christine. "Well done," he said. "The Comtesse used her size and speed to get within my defences. She is the victor. Never underestimate your opponents. Dismissed!" he announced to the cadets.

"That was amazing," said D'Artagnan as Athos and Christine made their way back to the table.

"Pay up," said Aramis, grinning at Porthos as he cut into a plum with his dagger.

"Actually Porthos, you should keep your money. Athos let me win," said Christine.

"Hah!" said Porthos, closing his fist on the coins he was about to hand Aramis.

"You had an opportunity to win the match earlier when my guard slipped slightly. Next time," she said, "I don't want you to go easy on me."

Athos smirked. "Nor you, though I would appreciate it if you didn't make it a habit of defeating me in front of the recruits."

"Lieutenant!" called a messenger from the garrison gates. Rolling his eyes Athos went to greet the man.

"You owe me five livres," said Aramis grinning at Christine from where he sat on the table.

She stepped towards him and taking the piece of cut fruit he offered her, she whispered, "I'm sure I can find some way to make it up to you," she said as he placed his hand upon her waist.

D'Artagnan coughed and she stepped back.

"What are you up to today?" Athos asked Christine.

"I'm on my way to the rue St. Jacques. I've taken up the Queen's cause to educate the poor and am going to see the progress made on the repairs to the school house, but I wanted to drop off these plums first," she said.

"You're spoiling them," said Athos as some star-eyed musketeers helped themselves to the fruit, smiling and tipping their hats at the welcome bounty from the Comtesse.

"Come Athos, everyone deserves a treat now and then," she said. "You will all still be joining me for dinner tomorrow evening, won't you? There is something important I think we need to share," she asked as she looked at the four who remained gathered at the table.

"Yes," said Athos as he donned his doublet. "I've been summoned to deliver a message for the King, but I should return early this evening."

"Excellent!" said Christine. "I'm very much looking forward to it."

Athos rode out of the garrison.

Christine made to leave but Aramis caught her wrist, pulling her close and kissing her deeply once more.

"I'll see you later," she murmured as she pulled away and smiled at him. He winked at her and kissed the inside of her wrist again before letting her go.

Porthos stood from the table and grumbled, wiping down his sword. "You've got to tell him."

"We will. Tomorrow night," said Aramis, also rising, sword in hand, a youthful and elated smile on his lips.

"You realize he might kill you," said D'Artagnan, rolling his shoulders and readying his position as the three men entered the practice ring.

"Then it all still would have been worth it. I love her," he said bluntly. "I love her," he repeated. It was the first time he had admitted it out loud to someone other than the woman herself and he liked the way it sounded.

D'Artagnan and Porthos looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "We know," they said in unison.

"It's been obvious," said D'Artagnan.

"Can't believe Athos' been so blind to it," said Porthos, beginning an attack on the marksman.

"Willful disbelief?" suggested D'Artagnan as he joined Porthos' attack on Aramis.

Aramis grinned. "Well, if he kills me, I'll still leave a beautiful corpse," he said. Porthos and D'Artagnan groaned as Aramis shifted to the offensive.

oOo


	5. Trouble, Ch 5

Trouble, Chapter 5

Aramis, D'Artagnan and Porthos passed the morning sparring and instructing the cadets, when suddenly the sound of an explosion rent the air. Moments later a man came running into the garrison courtyard panting.

"Fire!" he shouted, "Rue St. Jacques! The old schoolhouse!"

"Christine," whispered Aramis as he bolted from the garrison, throwing on his doublet, Porthos and D'Artagnan hot on his heels.

When they reached the rue St. Jacques, flames could be seen coming from the windows of the wood and stone building.

"What happened?" D'Artagnan asked a woman holding back a group of children from the scene as men flocked to throw water on the blaze.

"I don't know! The children were playing, running in and out of the schoolhouse while the workers were on break. They must have knocked over a candle. All of a sudden there was an explosion and the building went up in flames!" she cried.

"Mathieu!" shouted a girl, around the age of ten. "He's still in there!" she shouted grabbing onto the musketeer. Aramis, D'Artagnan and Porthos gathered around her.

"Explain," said Porthos sternly.

"We were the ones who knocked the candle. It lit the bucket of pitch that the workers had been using on the roof. I couldn't see him outside. I told the lady…She – She ran back into the building," she sobbed.

Before they could stop him, Aramis ran through the doorway of the building, as the flames leaking out of it grew higher.

oOo

Christine had been talking to the foreman when the explosion occurred. The force was instantantous and knocked them backwards as flames burst out from the building.

Christine sent the foreman running for help as she helped the others to organize the children and coordinate the water effort.

"Mathieu!" she heard a small voice shouting amid the tumult. Flocking to her side, she crouched down.

"What happened?" she asked urgently.

"Mathieu! I don't see him! He didn't come out of the building!" sobbed the girl.

Christine stood quickly. The doorway to the building was unimpeded. Covering her face with her arms she ran through the doorway and into the large room on the main floor. The few chairs that were in the room had been tossed aside during the explosion. The heavy oak table had stood its ground. Christine took a breath and coughed harshly as the smoke filled her lungs.

"Mathieu!" she called into the scorching room.

She heard a small groan coming from the corner near the table and ran towards it.

"Mathieu!" she shouted seeing the boy. He had a large gash in his leg that was bleeding heavily. The ankle on that leg was swollen to twice its size. She gently but urgently patted the boy's face until he opened his eyes and was able to make eye contact. His eyes grew wide at the sight and feel of the flames in the room.

"Mathieu! Mathieu," she said, "I need you to look at me. My name is Christine and I'm here to help you. You have hurt your leg. I need to try to stop the bleeding so that we can get out of here, do you understand me?" she asked.

The boy nodded, too shocked to speak.

"Ok, let's get under this table so I can bind your leg. Will you help me?" she said. He nodded again.

The boy whimpered as Christine dragged him under the table. It was easier to breathe closer to the ground, and they would be protected if anything fell. Tearing her skirt, she smiled at the boy as she tightly wrapped the wound to his leg.

"Can you stand?" she asked him.

"No," he said, whimpering in fear.

"That's ok," she said as she protectively clutched him to her. "My friends are Musketeers. They'll save us," she said as the intensity of the heat grew.

"Christine! Christine!" shouted Aramis as he burst through the door.

"We're here!" she called to him.

He slid on his knees under the table, his hand flying to cradle her face as he took in the blood on her hands and the boy clutched to her chest. "Are you hurt?" he asked, panic evident in his voice.

She shook her head. "Mathieu has a cut to his leg. I managed to bind it to stem the bleeding, but I think he landed on his ankle during the explosion. It's swollen and he can't put weight on it," she said.

Aramis nodded. Taking the lad into his arms he said, "Mathieu, I'm Aramis. We're going to get out of here. I need you to be brave and hold onto me tightly," he said.

With a look in Christine's eyes, Aramis stood, carrying the boy. The flames at the front door were now too high to trespass.

"There's a slight balcony on the first floor," said Christine.

They ran for the stairs and quickly climbed to the first floor balcony. Porthos and D'Artagnan stood below, throwing water onto the burning structure.

"Porthos!" shouted Aramis. The large musketeer ran to the base of the balcony and stood with his arms raised. "Mathieu, I need you to be brave once more. I'm going to lower you to my friend Porthos. He's also a musketeer. He will not let anything happen to you." The boy nodded into Aramis' chest.

Aramis leaned over the edge of the balcony as far as he could and dropped the boy into Porthos' outstretched arms.

The ground below their feet began to give way. Christine and Aramis ran back inside the building. The stairs crumbled below them.

"What do we do?" Christine coughed.

"Upstairs!" called Aramis, grabbing her hand and running to the second storey loft. A large window stood open with a plank platform the workers had been using protruding from it.

"Onto the scaffold," said Aramis, pushing his love before him.

The platform was small and Christine clung to Aramis so they would both fit. To their left hung a winch and a makeshift lift that the workers had used to lift supplies up to the roof. Aramis grabbed the thick rope and shook the lift. Roofing tiles fell to the ground below.

Porthos looked up to see Aramis and Christine standing on the small second storey platform. He saw Aramis grab the lift's rope and knew instantly what the madman had planned.

"D'Artagnan!" he shouted as he grabbed the other end of the thick rope and stood ready to act as the counter weight, D'Artgnan falling in line and grasping the rope behind him. Making eye contact with Porthos and D'Artagnan, whose panicked eyes he could make out even from the second floor, Aramis nodded.

"Are you ready?" he asked Christine as he pulled her to him and readied his foot on the small lift.

"Do I have any choice?" she laughed nervously as she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do you trust me?" he said

"With all my heart," she replied without hesitation.

He grinned at her.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, just before he stepped down. Grabbing his lapels, she kissed him, hard and nodded. "Just in case," she said.

"Hold on," he said, and wrapping his arm tightly around her, they stepped onto the small lift surface and sank to the ground.

The line went taught and slowed their freefall slightly, Porthos and D'Artagnan straining against the rope, trying to impede their plummet to the earth. The ground was intent to meet them and seemed to surge upward as they descended with speed. With a sickening groan, the winch broke away from the building, the rope falling slack without resistance, when they were more than a foot from the ground. Aramis and Christine leapt from the lift's base, Aramis pulling her tighter into his chest as the roof of the burning building collapsed behind them.

oOo

A few hours later the burning building lay in smoking ruins, the fire having burned itself out. Christine leaned against a wagon, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, observing the clean-up of the area. Aramis made his way over to her.

"How's Mathieu?" she asked before he could say anything.

"He's fine," he said. "A little shaken. He's badly sprained his ankle, but it's not broken. I put it in a splint and stitched the wound on his leg. He should be fine in a few weeks if he's easy on it."

Christine nodded. Aramis wrapped an arm around her waist and took her chin in his other hand.

"Never do anything this reckless again," he said sternly, looking into her eyes, which seemed to burst into their own flames as he held her gaze.

"I couldn't just leave him there!" she declared. "He could have died!"

"You could have died!" he said.

"You wouldn't have done nothing," she said stubbornly, "how could you expect me not to act?"

Aramis looked down and shook his head. "It's not the same. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you," he said, running his hand through his hair; his voice was tinged with fear. "You are everything to me. My life is worthless!"

"Not to me," she said lifting his chin and staring into the depths of his fathomless eyes. "Not to me. I love you, Aramis. I don't want to hide this anymore," she said, and pulling him closer she kissed him on the street in front of all of Paris.

oOo

He sat on his horse and surveyed the damage done.

He saw her leaning against the wagon. He saw him approach her and take her face in his hand. He saw the way she leaned into him and gripped him tightly back.

He saw her lift his chin. He saw her kiss him and he saw him kiss her back, lovingly, passionately, purely, knowing full well how close they had come to losing each other, their relief and joy palpable.

Athos saw them and he turned away, his horse silently leading him back to the garrison.

oOo


	6. Trouble, Ch 6

Trouble, Chapter 6

Aramis, D'Artagnan and Porthos stood alone in the armoury the next morning, putting away swords they had been tasked with sharpening, when Athos burst into the room.

With a roar he made a beeline for Aramis and punched him hard across the face sending the marksman careening away.

"Hey!" shouted Porthos as D'Artagnan threw himself in front of the swordsman. Athos threw D'Artagnan aside and drew his rapier.

"Stay out of this," he snarled at the two men.

"Athos! What are you doing?!" shouted Porthos as the lieutenant took a swing at his brother and one of his oldest friends. Aramis leapt aside and rolling, recovered one of the rapiers that had been cast to the floor and prepared himself to meet Athos' attack.

"Stay out of this, Porthos," Aramis said, extending his hand as if to hold back his friend. His cheekbone was cut where Athos had struck him, a slight trickle of blood and some bruising evident.

"I should have known better than to introduce her to you," said Athos as he delivered a vicious series of overhead attacks. "I should have known you would do everything in your power to add her to your collection."

"Athos, I – " Aramis began.

"What is she to you? Nothing more than another conquest?" Athos spat, continuing his offensive.

"Athos – " gasped Aramis as he tried to counter Athos' intense onslaught. Porthos and D'Artagnan danced nervously on the periphery, not sure how, if or when to intervene.

"She's like my sister!" raged Athos. "I warned you, I would kill you if you hurt her!" he said as he lunged at the marksman.

Anger took over Aramis at these words, and suddenly he was the one on the offensive.

"I would never do anything to hurt her," he said coldly. "She is not just another conquest," he said, each word falling as heavily as the blows he was dealing.

"I fell in love with her the moment I saw her in the marketplace, before I even knew her name!" he shouted, as more blows rained down.

"Hah! Love!" shouted Athos as he countered a riposte with a complicated parry.

"I would never harm her," said Aramis. "Why are you acting like this?" Aramis shouted as the two men stepped close, battling, their swords locked. A thought flashed into Aramis' brain.

"Are you in love with her?" he asked as the men struggled to overpower each other.

"No!" shouted Athos. The two broke away. "Are you?"

"YES!" shouted Aramis, casting his blade aside.

"Yes," he said panting and dropping to his knees. "I'm in love with her Athos. I'm in love with her in a way that I didn't even know was possible. And she loves me too," he said as Athos stepped in front of him, blade still in hand.

"I love her with a love that no force on earth can stop, Athos. I'm sorry. We never meant to hurt you, brother, but I will not stop seeing her. If you cannot accept this, then kill me, for as long as my heart still beats, it's hers, and I will never stop loving her."

Athos stood over the marksman who was breathing heavily from his knees. His blue eyes were dark and full of emotion as they looked upon his brother. He brought his sword to rest against Aramis' neck. Porthos' fists clenched and D'Artagnan tensed, eyes on the blade.

"You love her?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," said Aramis.

"And she loves you?"

"Yes. She says she does."

"And you will lay down your life for her?"

"Always."

"Then I am happy for you," said Athos as he sheathed his sword and reached down to pull a confused and startled Aramis into a warm embrace. Aramis sighed with relief in his arms. Porthos and D'Artagnan remembered how to breathe again.

"You're happy for us?" Aramis stammered as he pushed back with a hand on Athos' shoulder, searching the man's oceanic eyes.

Athos grinned. "I needed to be sure," he said, "But I couldn't be happier. I would entrust her to be worshipped by no other man but you," he said and the two men embraced again, as Porthos wiped a vagrant tear of joy and relief from his eye.

oOo

Later that day, Aramis was sitting on their regular table casually eating an apple watching Porthos instructing some cadets in hand-to-hand combat. Athos and D'Artagnan were due to be returning from duty at the palace. He gingerly wiped at his bruised cheekbone then saw Christine enter the garrison gates, smiling.

The smile quickly faded as she took in the cut to his face and the bruise on his cheek.

"What happened?" she asked as she took his face in her hand to examine the wound.

"Nothing, it's nothing," he said hastily, taking her hand in his, as D'Artagnan and Athos rode into the garrison and dismounted. Athos passed D'Artagnan his reins and made to approach the table.

"Uh oh. This could be trouble," he thought as Christine tore herself from Aramis' grip and stormed over to him with eyes of thunder.

"Christi – " he began.

"WHACK" came her reply as she struck him resoundingly across the face. The men in the practice area had stopped when the blow fell, seeing the lieutenant stagger under the impact. Porthos smirked to himself, impressed by the force of the blow she delivered.

"How. Dare. You." She said coldly. "How dare you! Who do you think you are to interfere in my life like that! I am a grown woman, Athos and free to make my own decisions." Aramis rose from the table.

She drew a breath. "I love you Athos, but you are not my father. I do not need you to protect me or approve of the man I choose to love! How dare you!" She glowered at the man who stood helplessly before her. Aramis came up behind her and wound his arms around her waist pulling her close against him.

"It's okay, love," he said to her, kissing the side of her neck. "Athos knows. He approves. He is happy for us."

"He approves…?" she asked meekly, turning slightly to face her lover. Aramis nodded.

"I thought you didn't need my approval?" Athos asked, raising a hand to his cheek.

"I don't," she said and glared at him. "But I should still like your blessing…" she ended softly, drawing Aramis' arms tighter around her, her smokey eyes staring into Athos' blue.

"Then you have it whole-heartedly," he said, bowing to her. "I know of no two people better suited for one another than the two of you. You're both far too reckless, you will both act without thinking to protect each other. You will drive each other crazy, but no one will love another as wholly and as passionately as you two will love each other," he said with a smile.

She grinned at him as Aramis kissed her neck again.

Turning to face him completely, she threw her arms around Aramis' neck and pulled him close. He lifted her into his arms and spun her through the air, kissing her deeply. She ran her thumb along his cheekbone, and laughing, with tears in her eyes, she kissed him again to the applause and cheers of the musketeers in the courtyard.

oOo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A/N - Hope you enjoyed this! This is the first "episode" I've written for this series. I'll continue to post under this story title in order to maintain the character and storylines, so if you've enjoyed this first story, there are more to come!


	7. The Secret Ch 1

A/N: Hi all! Here's the start of the next little chapter of this series. Hope you're enjoying it!

The Secret, Chapter 1

Light spilled in through the window and onto the ruffled bed sheets.

"You'll need to get up soon," she murmured and pressed herself further into the musketeer's side.

He smiled and pulled her closer. "You're probably right," he said and kissed the top of her head. She raised her head slightly and rested her chin upon her hands to better take him in. He lay peacefully in her bed, the sun revealing the richness of his chestnut hair. She looked at where his intense dark eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids and thick lashes, his perfect lips parted slightly, daring her to steal a kiss, which she did with pleasure.

He smiled again and his eyes opened. He looked at her face, the way her dark hair cascaded down her back and shoulders, the light streaming in from the window behind her to make her skin glow like a goddess. There was nothing that could pull him from her bed in that moment. Except…

"Treville will be angry," she said, but made no effort to put distance between them, her fingers tracing a path across his chest.

"There is still time," he replied.

"Athos will be in a mood," She laughed as he pulled her close again. Rolling, her hands clasped in his, their fingers entwined, he looked down into Christine's blue-grey eyes.

"So be it," he said, her arms encircling him as they made love in the morning light.

oOo

"Morning," called Aramis as he jogged through the garrison gates.

Porthos grinned, "Cuttin' it close," he said. Aramis grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Anything left to eat?" he asked.

D'Artagnan grinned. "You're lucky I saved you something," he said and tossed Aramis an apple. "You'd think that as a comtesse she'd at least feed you some breakfast," he said.

Porthos and Aramis looked at their youngest and grinned.

"Not sure they had time for breakfast, pup," said Porthos with a suggestive wink.

"What? Why no – Oh!" he said, his eyes grew round and he blushed. Porthos and Aramis both roared with laughter and clapped the lad on the arms as the other men filtered in to take their positions at muster. Sometimes, D'Artagnan was still just that naïve boy from Gascony.

"Never going to live that down," he muttered as they took their positions for the muster.

oOo

The four musketeers were just leaving the palace following their guard duty as Christine emerged from the throne room looking a little perturbed - spending the morning in the company of some of the more inane nobles could have that effect, but she smiled warmly when she recognized the four men who saluted her from the courtyard. The sun was shining brightly for late March, a nice change from the heavy rains of the days before. Cold puddles still marked the streets of Paris, but the upcoming Easter weekend would hopefully prove to be a warm one.

As Christine descended the stairs to meet the quartet, Aramis stepped forward and bowed to her slightly. "It is a pleasure to see you Comtesse," he said.

She paused for a moment, startled and laughed softly. "Comtesse?" she said. "So formal."

He grinned back at her. "Appearances, my love, we're still at court."

She sighed as she continued to walk towards the others as they exited the palace gates.

"Please," she said, "Let's not mention the court right now."

"Anything the matter?" asked Athos, casting a knowing glance at his old friend.

She sighed. "No, and yes," she said. "The King is surrounded by some of the most insufferable and simpering dolts I have ever seen in all my life at court."

Porthos laughed loudly. "Tha's a bit of an understatement if you ask me," he said, to which the others grinned their agreement.

Christine laughed. 'Oh Porthos," she said. "If only a third of them had your goodness and sense then the King and country would be in a much better position than they're currently in."

The musketeers said nothing, but exchanged dark looks at these words. Christine sighed and turning to the musketeers, she brightly asked them about their day, where Porthos launched into great detail about D'Artagnan's altercation with a bee that morning while he was on guard duty in the gardens. She laughed and drew close to Aramis, resting her head on his shoulder as he entwined her arm in his and stroked her hand as they progressed towards the marketplace.

They arrived at a scene of chaos.

"Stop, thief!" shouted a vendor as a young man came sprinting through the crowd towards the musketeers.

The vendor had drawn his pistol.

Without a moment for the others to react, Aramis stopped, his hand on Christine's elbow. He pushed her away from him into the outstretched arms of Athos as he stepped forward.

The bullet hit Aramis in the chest.

Time slowed down as the bullet made impact and Aramis was turned by its force to face where Christine and Athos stood.

Sound faded from the world as he looked into the terrified eyes of his lover and his friend as he sank to his knees into a cold puddle on the street.

With a roar Porthos was at his side, catching the marksman before his head hit the ground.

D'Artagnan leapt forward to apprehend the thief, as he simultaneously drew his pistol on the shooter.

"Do not move!" he hollered as the laneway cleared, giving him a clear view of the man with the smoking gun.

"'Mis! 'Mis!" shouted Porthos as he cradled Aramis against his chest.

"Aramis!" shouted Christine as she tore herself out of Athos' arms and threw herself into the mess of the street. A dark red stain had begun to blossom on the man's doublet. She immediately placed her hands over the wound to put pressure on it and stem the blood flow. "We need to get him out of here! Athos!" she called over her shoulder.

Athos handed her the scarf he had pulled from his neck which she quickly placed under her hands to help to slow the bleeding. "We'll take him to the Garrison," he said rising.

Christine shook her head. 'My home is closer," she insisted.

"- stine," Aramis muttered as his eyelids fluttered and he reached a bloody hand towards her face, before dropping it and falling limp in Porthos' arms.

"Please!" she begged Athos as she placed her hand at Aramis' throat, desperate for a pulse.

"Okay," said Athos, as he helped Porthos lift the marksman into his arms; he and Christine rushed from the marketplace.

Athos stared after them for a moment, unsure of how to act. D'Artagnan still held the thief in his hand, his pistol still trained on the shooter. From the corner of his eye Athos saw more musketeers approaching the scene.

"Go!" shouted D'Artagnan. "I've got this!"

Nodding to the younger man, and trying to ignore his brother's blood that had stained the pavement, Athos bolted from the scene to follow in the wake of his injured brother.


	8. The Secret, Ch 2

The Secret, Chapter 2

"Marie! I need my medical kit," shouted Christine as she and Porthos burst through the kitchen doors. "Porthos, put him on the table," she instructed as she poured boiling water into a bowl.

Aramis' breathing was ragged as Porthos lowered him on the table and continued to apply pressure to his chest. He grabbed the brawler's arm, eyes wide in panic.

"Christine," he panted, "Is she –"

"She's fine! She's fine, brother! Calm down," he said, trying to soothe Aramis to ease his breathing.

"I'm fine, love, I'm right here," she said as she flew to his side. Marie entered the kitchen shaking, a leather satchel clasped in her hands. Taking it from the woman, Christine instructed the cook to steep certain packets of leaves in the boiling water, the scent of which soon filled the room.

Porthos began removing Aramis' doublet as Athos entered.

"Aramis," said Christine, placing her hand against his face, the other one replacing Porthos' to maintain pressure on the wound, "You've been shot. The ball is still in there. I'll need to clean the wound before I can remove it," she said calmly. Aramis locked his eyes on hers and nodded his understanding. She kissed him quickly and went to work.

"Athos, Porthos, I need you to hold him down," she said, as she brought a bowl of the herbal water forward. Athos and Porthos stood at Aramis' shoulder and legs and prepared themselves. Christine quickly began to pour the hot water over the wound and wiped it with a clean cloth, her eyes filling with tears as Aramis' body lurched away at the pain. Porthos and Athos held tight when the marksman's body stilled. Christine hesitated only long enough to register that Aramis was still breathing before reaching for a sharp blade she had bathed in the boiled water and a long thin pair of tweezers.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" asked Athos, only once.

She glared at him and he went silent at the look in her eyes. Strength and pain, battled with love and fear, the same emotions he knew were in his eyes; she said nothing, but set to her task.

The entry wound had pierced Aramis on his left side, just below his collarbone. As she carefully widened the entry and entered the forceps into the wound she sent up a prayer. A few inches lower and the bullet would have pierced his heart.

Her brow furrowed as she manipulated the instruments. Her hands were slick with Aramis' blood as she began to slowly withdraw the bullet. It was nearly out when her fingers slipped and the tweezers fell from her hands with a gasp.

Hastily wiping his blood onto her skirt, she deftly inserted her fingers into the chest wound and pulled out the ball, dropping it in the now soiled water along with the forceps and the blade.

Immediately, the wound began to bleed again. Athos grabbed a towel and put pressure on the injury. The trio barely registered the ease in Aramis' breathing or the fact that D'Artagnan had entered the room.

Christine made ready to clean the wound once more and Aramis', rousing slightly, instinctively struggled again against the cleansing water as it was poured over the wound. When the strong clear alcohol followed, Aramis screamed in pain, his body arching away from the table so violently, it was all Porthos and Athos could do to hold him steady. He went still suddenly, driven back into oblivion by the pain and again, Christine's hands flew to his throat to ensure that her love still had a pulse.

Taking a deep breath, she looked into the concerned blue and brown eyes of Athos and Porthos and nodded. From behind them, D'Artagnan let out a whoop of relief which jostled the two musketeers. Christine gave him a small grim smile as she began to sew the wound closed.

She tied off her last stitch, her hands now shaking and Porthos' big hand enclosed hers. She looked up into the big brown eyes, full of love, fear and determination. He nodded at her, lost for words. She smiled at him softly, not quite ready to give voice to the results of her work.

"We should get him out of these wet clothes and into a bed," Athos said softly.

Christine nodded. "You should bring him to my chamber," she said. "It'll be good for him to be in a place he recognizes if he wakes up…"

Porthos grunted as he carefully lifted Aramis' unconscious form from the table. Athos and D'Artagnan followed, leaving Christine alone in the kitchen.

oOo

An hour later, Christine was still in the kitchen. She stood leaning against the butcher-block table where she had gathered the bloodstained cloths that had been discarded, staring at the blood that still coated her forearms and much of her dress. Her maidservant, Marie, silently led Athos back into the kitchen. Christine looked up at him with dead, hollow eyes and he sucked in a breath at the sight of her despair.

Going to her, he put his arms around his friend and she collapsed into them.

"Christine!" he said urgently, "What's wrong? Tell me, are you alright?"

"Aramis," she whispered and stared at her hands. "It's his Athos. His blood," she whispered in a voice so beaten it nearly broke his heart.

"Come," he said. "Aramis is resting now. You were able to remove the bullet. You saved him," he said.

She shook her head. "He stepped in front of me," she whispered. "I did what I could, but…I just don't know Athos. He lost a lot of blood. If that doesn't take him, a fever might…"

These things Athos knew and were nightmares he too was battling. He took her hands, covering them with his own, hiding the blood from her sight and looked into her eyes, his torrid oceanic eyes gazing into the storm clouds of hers.

"You have done everything you could to save him," he said. "I have never been more proud of you."

"But if he doesn't wake…"

"He WILL," he said. "He will. Aramis would never give you up so easily now that you've found each other. Have faith in him," said Athos.

Silent tears streamed down her face, which she brushed away angrily.

"Mistress…?" called Marie, hesitantly from the door.

Christine made to stand but swayed dangerously on her feet. Athos scooped her up into his arms and she curled in against his chest.

"She needs a hot bath and clean clothes," said Athos as he led the way out the door. "Get rid of this dress. Don't let her see it."

oOo


	9. The Secret, Ch 3

The Secret, Chapter 3

Christine revived after her bath and his blood was washed off of her body.

Night had fallen as she entered her bedchamber. Porthos sat in a chair at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. D'Artagnan stood pacing by the window. Athos sat on the other side of the bed facing the door and stood as she entered.

"I'm sorry," she said to him as he approached her. "I didn't mean to despair like that," she whispered. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"It's always hardest when it's those we love," he said.

She gave a bitter laugh. "I never realized that until now. I've had men die in my arms before, I've held their hands as they took their last breaths…but him…Athos…if he…"

"He will be fine," Athos repeated firmly, catching her eye in his. She swallowed and nodded her head as he led her to the bedside.

Aramis lay on the bed, a light sheen of sweat covering him. He looked peaceful but his breathing was still haggard.

"Has he awoken?" she asked softly, taking one of his hands in hers and tenderly brushing his hair back from his forehead with the other.

"Stirred a bit," said Porthos, "but hasn't woken yet. He'll be glad you're here" he said and smiled at her softly.

"Thank you for getting him here," she said reaching her hand out to cover Porthos' clenched fists. He smiled at her and looked down at the marksman sadly. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. At some point a servant brought some food into the room. The musketeers picked at it, but Christine stayed at Aramis' side, gently running her fingers through the dark curls.

Treville arrived as the night drew on. Christine rose as he entered and he was shocked to see the normally vivacious young woman look so forlorn. Porthos and D'Artagnan had fallen asleep in chairs by the fire, and Athos had assumed Porthos' seat next to the bed.

"Captain," she said quietly as she approached him. Athos rose and approached as well at the sound of her voice.

"How is he?" Treville asked, eyes flickering between the smokey grey and ice blue eyes, both sets trained to hide behind the composed walls of the nobility. Treville felt a pain in his chest knowing just how much anguish the pair were going through, and knowing that if they faltered now for even a moment, neither would be able to rein in the emotional hurricanes that were raging being their sea-like eyes.

To Treville's surprise it was Christine who stepped forward to address him.

"The bullet entered his chest just below the clavicle," she said. "He was lucky that it did not impact the bone or his shoulder, save for the damage done to the muscle which should heal in time. I was able to extract the ball and clean and stitch the wound."

"You did this?" asked Treville, marvelling at the fortitude she had to treat someone she cared deeply for in such a dire situation.

She nodded. "I served for a time as a field nurse, Captain. This is not my first experience with a bullet wound," she said and gave him a small smile.

"You're worried," he said as she cast her eyes back to the marksman.

"As the bullet impacted him, Aramis fell into a large pool of water that had gathered in the streets," she sighed. "Though the wound has remained uninfected, I fear that his time spent in the sodden clothing as we treated the gunshot wound and the amount of pain and blood loss he endured have caused a fever to take hold. He has stirred a few times, but so far has not awoken."

"We are monitoring his temperature closely," said Athos stepping forward, "But I worry about the fever, and the cold…especially at this time of year," he said looking pointedly at the Captain.

Treville's eyes flashed at Athos' implication and he nodded. Christine's brow furrowed as she looked between the two men.

"Keep an eye on him," was all the Captain said.

"The shooter and the thief?" asked Porthos from his seat by the fire.

Treville ran a hand down his face as though to rouse himself.

"Both in the Chatelet. The thief had stolen very little, but when you have so little, the merchant felt he was justified in his actions to defend his property. I believe their fates will be determined by Aramis'. The King is greatly upset by the injury to one of his men. If Aramis lives – "

Porthos roared. "If Aramis dies over something as trivial as a few coins, those bastards will beg for the executioner when I get through with them."

Treville said nothing, but stared into the cold eyes of his musketeers before turning to look at the woman who stood with them.

She was brave, it was as obvious as her love for him, and she would fight for him, he could see it in her opal-like eyes. Treville had known the marksman since he had found him as the cocky young soldier at the front lines. He had practically raised Aramis as his own son. If he believed anything, Treville believed the man would fight with everything he had in him to get back to this woman who loved him so, and to his brothers who needed him.

Meeting the Comtesse's fiery eyes with his own icy blue ones, Treville nodded to her and said, "Let me know when he wakes." She nodded back and he left the room.

oOo


	10. The Secret, Ch4

The Secret, Chapter 4

The night wore on and the vigil continued. Christine remained at Aramis' side.

She was startled slightly as midnight approached and he began to stir violently.

"Aramis!" she called to him, frightened by the amount of distress he was in.

"No!" he cried in his sleep. "Get away from them!"

Athos and Porthos shared a knowing look, but before either could react, Aramis suddenly lurched forward and grabbed Christine by the throat.

"Stay away from them!" he shouted, his fevered eyes scanning the ceiling, but seeing nothing.

"Aramis!" shouted Porthos as he grabbed his wrist to try to free the woman from his grasp.

"Aramis! Aramis! Stop! This is not Savoy! You are not in Savoy!" shouted Athos as he wrapped his arms around Aramis from behind and pulled him into his chest. "This is not Savoy. You are not in Savoy. You are safe. You are safe," he repeated as the marksman slowly relaxed his grip and sank back into oblivion.

Christine fell back coughing hoarsely, rubbing her throat, desperately trying to pull air into her lungs. Porthos pulled her to him and cupping her face in his large hands he whispered, "Easy, easy. It's alright. He's fine, just breathe, yer okay, just breathe." D'Artagnan ran to grab her a mug of tea that had been kept warm at the fire as Athos settled the once more unconscious marksman back under the sheets.

Porthos led her to a chair by the fire and away from the bed where she struggled to drink the warm contents of the mug. The bruising on her neck was already becoming visible as the red finger marks sprouted on her pale skin.

When her breathing had settled under the warm hand of Porthos' on her shoulder, Athos came and knelt next to her. Her eyes were aflame, but not with the fear Athos had been expecting, but with worry.

"Tell me," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her eyes flashing in anger at him. "Tell me Athos."

Athos shook his head but said nothing.

Angrily she reached forward and grabbed his wrist and placed it on her bruised throat.

"Tell me," she said coldly. "Tell me what happened at Savoy. Tell me what the significance is in Easter. Tell me what would make the man who loves me nearly choke the life from me. If you love me Athos, you will tell me. Tell me how to save him," she said, tears falling silently from her eyes once more.

Athos couldn't look away from her devastation, or at the way she had placed his hand so it now lay over the bruising on her neck.

"It was many years ago," Athos said, dropping his head, her gaze, and his hand from her throat. "Aramis was part of a failed training mission that was sent to Savoy. Porthos and I were still new at the regiment and so were held back to practice some of our more practical skills. The men were in training; they were unprepared. The Duke of Savoy was misled. He was told that the men there were part of an assassination attempt on his life – the false cover story was actually part of a plot of intrigue to protect a spy within the Savoy court. Aramis and his men were sent as sacrifice. All the men were slaughtered except for Aramis and one other, Marsac. Aramis was injured, but Marsac pulled him to safety."

Porthos growled. "He pulled him to safety then left him to die among the 20 other men left on the field."

Christine gasped. Athos nodded and continued. "We found Aramis five days later, nearly frozen, concussed and still bleeding from a stab wound to his side. Five days he had sat there, barely conscious, listening to his brothers dying around him and trying to fight the crows from feasting on their bodies. It was Easter," he finished sadly.

Athos looked up into Christine's eyes and saw her heart breaking before him.

"Five days? He was left there for five days?" she whispered.

Athos nodded. "It took a long time for Aramis to recover from that. Part of him, I believe never will."

"These nightmares…" she began.

Porthos nodded as he shifted to stand behind Athos, so he was in her sight.

"They happen occasionally. Usually when he's injured or in circumstances that resemble Savoy," said Athos.

"It's usually when he's really injured or feverish. That with the cold of that water an' the fact that it's almost Easter…" Porthos said.

"I've never seen him do that before," she said. "He looked so frightened."

Again Athos nodded. "That doesn't quite surprise me." Christine gave him a quizzical look.

"Aramis has these nightmares when he's feeling desperate and vulnerable. It's the way his mind handles his fear and pain when his body is taxed like this. Since the two of you met, I don't believe that Aramis has had a single moment where he hasn't known and felt your love for him and his love for you. The last thing he probably recalls from his injury is trying to save you from the gunshot, when he pushed you towards me in the market."

"He asked Porthos if I was okay…" Christine whispered and looked at her hands.

Porthos growled slightly and reaching forward he took her chin in his hand and stared into her eyes

"Don't," he said. "This ain't your fault. He loves you and you saved him. He's gonna pull through this. You'll see." He wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb as she gave a slight laugh and looked at the hopeful and determined look on the big man's face.

"If he doesn't…" she asked him quietly.

"Do you love 'im?" asked the brawler.

"Yes," she swallowed. "With all my heart."

"Then he will," he replied fervently. Hope ballooned in her chest at his words, and he saw the moment it took hold; saw the life return to her face and the fire burn bright in her eyes.

oOo


	11. The Secret, Ch 5

The Secret, Chapter 5

Aramis' fever broke near dawn. He began to stir as the light filtered into the bedroom. Athos leaned forward in the chair he occupied next to the bed. Aramis slowly opened his eyes to meet the blue gaze of his brother crowning a broad grin.

"We were wondering when you'd finally join us," said Athos quietly, "But we know how insistent you are about getting your beauty rest."

Aramis grinned and then looked around the room. D'Artagnan was curled up in a winged armchair by the fire while Porthos was draped over the settee. Christine was in the chair across from Athos, her head resting on her arms upon the bed where she had finally surrendered to sleep. Her outstretched fingers still barely grazing Aramis' hand. The look on Aramis' when he saw her was one of sheer joy.

Athos grinned as he looked at his brother looking at his oldest friend as she slept and his heart felt full for the first time in years.

"She hasn't left your side," He said. "She was the one who saved you. She removed the bullet from your chest and coaxed you through the fever that followed."

"Fever?" asked Aramis. Storm clouds gathered in his eyes as some memory of his nightmare returned. "I dreamt I was back there...back in Savoy," he said, bringing his hand to his head and running it through his hair.

Athos sighed and nodded, and looked at Christine.

Aramis stopped; panic flashed into his eyes. Christine shifted slightly in her sleep and Aramis gasped when he could suddenly see the violent lines that his fingers had left around her throat.

"What happened?" he said urgently. "What did I do?" his voice echoed like the voice of the dead.

Christine was roused by the sound.

"Aramis," she said breathlessly as she registered his tear-filled eyes looking at her. "You're awake!" she said. Athos quietly stepped back and away from the bed to join Porthos and D'Artagnan by the fireplace.

"I must be in heaven," replied the marksman with a tearful smile, "for there is no way a mere mortal can look as beautiful as you do right now." She laughed, tears falling from her eyes.

"I think you must still be feverish," she said as she shifted and sat on the mattress. He cupped her face in his right hand and brushed the tears from her cheek with his thumb.

"Believe me, love, I have never seen something more beautiful in my life."

"Nor I," she said and beamed at him.

His hand dropped from her face to lightly brush her neck. His eyes grew darker and pain shot to them once more. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his fingers barely daring to touch her.

"It's okay," she whispered pulling his hand to her chest so it covered her heart. "I know now. It wasn't you. You came back to me."

Aramis coughed out a laugh, his own tears running down his face now.

"I didn't know how to tell you," he said. "Savoy...what happened there...it almost destroyed me. It damaged me in ways that I don't think I'll ever recover from. I didn't want to have to. You shouldn't have to bear this burden too. I can't imagine what you must think of me."

Her eyes found his as she responded. "What I think of you? I think you are a man who has suffered far more than he should have ever had to. I think you are brave and passionate and stronger than any man I have met," she said with passion, her eyes boring into his. "This was not your fault. It's over now. I promise, I will help you carry whatever burden might be yours. I love you Aramis. You came back to me."

"But Christine," he said, "I hurt you." It was impossible for him to sound more miserable and frightened.

She squeezed his hand tightly. "That wasn't you. You wouldn't hurt me. You got lost in a nightmare but you came back. You came back to me." She beamed at him amid tears of joy and leant forward to kiss him.

"Always," he promised her. "I will always come back to you," he said as he pulled her across his body and into the space next to him, and kissed her, all gunshot wounds forgotten.

oOo

A few days later when Aramis returned to light duty, he smiled as he saw Christine enter the garrison.

"Well this is a nice surprise," he said. "Are you coming to see me?"

"Normally yes," she said with a smile as she winked at Porthos and D'Artagnan who were all gathered at their regular table at the base of the stairs. "This time, however, I've received an invitation from the Captain,' she said.

"Well, you best not keep him waiting," said Aramis, and offering her his arm, he led her up the stairs to the Captain's office, the others following in tow.

When they reached the door, Aramis knocked twice.

"Come in," came Treville's voice across the threshold. Aramis opened the door and led the way inside. Athos was standing at attention in front of Treville. Aramis released her arm and fell in line with Porthos and D'Artagnan. She looked at the men quizzically.

"I received you summons, Captain," she said to the most senior musketeer and war hero.

"Yes, thank you Comtesse, for agreeing to meet with me," he replied.

"The pleasure is mine," she said, "But I'm not sure why I'm owed it," she said bluntly.

Treville grinned. He liked a woman who spoke her mind.

"I have just had a report from my lieutenant detailing the service that you provided to the Crown and to my Musketeers recently." Christine blushed.

"It was no service, sir. It was what any person would do –"

"Yet I hear you did what many could not. You thought clearly and rationally and stayed focused in extreme hardship. You did not hesitate to act and solved problems calmly as they arose. You kept faith but made no promises. You saved a man's life and were able to make hard decisions even when it was the life of someone you loved hanging in the balance. Most importantly of all, you saw your duty through to its end to ensure its success at what I'm sure was a strain and a sacrifice to you," said Treville.

"Please, Captain," Christine began. "This was a specific incident…"

"Do you mean to tell me you would have acted differently if it was Athos or D'Artagnan on your table? Or a nameless boy from the market? An old man in off the streets?"

Christine looked at the ground for just a moment, then raised her head defiantly and said, "No, sir."

Treville smiled. "I didn't think so. Which is why you have been recommended to me to take up the role of the garrison's in-house medic."

A stunned silence followed this pronouncement.

"Sir," said Christine, not breaking eye contact with the Captain, "I'm honoured, but his majesty will never permit it. I'm not formally trained, sir. All I know, I learned through practice and from books."

"Which is more than any of my other medics can boast of. Of course, a physician would be called should the need require, and your role here would not interfere with your responsibilities at court, but it would provide you with a vocation outside of court and would allow you to expand upon and improve your medical knowledge through practise. Besides, you would be doing a great service to your King and country."

"Yes," Christine said, smiling now at the Captain, "But the King will never allow it."

"No," said Treville, the gleam in his eyes matching that of the Comtesse, "But the Queen will, and I think in this instance the King will do as the Queen suggests. In fact he already has. The position is yours should you choose to accept it."

"Thank you, sir, I'm honoured. Yes, I accept," she said with a curtsey, catching Treville off guard.

"Well then, Mademoiselle Christine, La Comtesse des Etoilles, welcome to the King's Musketeers."

oooooooooooooooo

A/N: Thanks for reading the second instalment in this series. Taking a slight departure from Christine and Aramis to work on a more regular story I've got floating around my desktop, but I may try working both at once! We'll see! I'd love to hear from you if you've got any ideas about where I should take this!


	12. Saints and Sinners, Ch 1

A/N: Thanks for those of you who have been following along with this series, and for not getting too frustrated with the break in between posts. Here's the next episode!

ooooooooooooooooo

 **Saints and Sinners, Ch. 1**

It had been weeks since Christine had begun working in the Garrison. The men quickly got used to having a woman around – though some of the cadets still gawked at her from time to time as she passed. It had only taken a few scoldings and the resetting of two shoulders (the screams of the cadets who required the treatment could be heard from two blocks away) for the men to accept her amongst them.

She wasn't surprised when, as she was putting some bandages away, Bernard and Adam burst through the door. Bernard looked stressed and Adam embarrassed as he clutched a bloodstained cloth to his forehead.

"Whoa," said Christine as she looked at the two men, pointing for Adam to take a seat in a chair.

She had come to know Bernard and Adam fairly well, among a few others. Bernard, she saw, acted as a bit of an older brother figure to Adam, who was nearly of an age with D'Artagnan, though a little older. They kept her company sharing jokes and stories when Aramis, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan were out on duty.

Today however, as Adam sat in the chair and Bernard loomed over him, did not look like it would be a day for jokes.

"What happened?" she asked as she pulled out her sewing supplies, some fresh towels and a bottle of spirits. She filled a bowl with hot water she kept boiling at the hearth and set it on the table next to her other supplies.

"It was nothing," muttered Adam as he bashfully dropped his eyes as she leaned closer to him to examine his wound.

"Nothing," muttered Bernard. "Hah! We were out in the market place, and we heard a cry coming from a few streets over. Adam over here, decides to be a hero and takes off running before we can even determine what direction the shout was coming from."

"She needed help," he said, looking Christine in the eye. She smiled at him and he blushed slightly but he didn't look away.

"This will sting," she whispered as she poured some of the clear spirits over the wound and began to wipe it with a clean towel. Adam hissed slightly as she worked.

"She needed help alright. It was that young Clarice, the seamstress' girl. Poor girl was set upon by three thugs, intent on stealing all she had and god knows what else if our hero here hadn't gotten to her. Adam took care of two of the brutes, but the third got a good crack in before we could catch up to Adam and he took off down the street. Cornet got a shot off that winged him, but he managed to escape."

Christine was focused on her needlework as she deftly stitched the wound closed. She didn't notice Aramis enter the infirmary.

"I know Clarice," she said. "She's quite pretty," she said, eyes focused on her thread.

"Some might think so," said Adam, again turning red, gazing at the way she pursed her lips slightly as she sewed.

"Not sure she's Adam's type," said Bernard with a wink at Aramis and a smirk at his young friend, whose eyes flashed dangerously at the older musketeer.

"I told you we didn't need to bother Christine," he muttered darkly.

"I'm glad you did," she said, spreading her soothing salve over the wound so it smelled like rosemary and lavender. "There are only a few, but the wound needed stitches. Don't worry," she said, taking his chin in her hand, "You're still handsome," she said teasingly.

"If you ask me, a few well placed scars are like catnip to a certain type of woman," quirked Aramis as he leaned against the cabinet that stored the medical supplies.

Bernard laughed at this and Christine rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her grin.

"Did you just get back?" asked Adam rising.

Aramis nodded. "Three days on the road to deliver a letter, and three hard nights returning home," he said. He glanced quickly at Christine before saying: "I'm looking forward to barricading myself in a nice soft bed for two days without even looking outside at a tree." Adam and Bernard left laughing, patting Aramis on the shoulder as they left, closing the infirmary door behind them.

"You know," said Aramis, grabbing Christine by the waist as he walked her backwards until her back was pressed up against the cabinet, "I was hoping you might be available to join me in my self-imposed quarantine for a few days." Rolls of unused bandages fell from her hands as he kissed her.

Laughing softly, she ran her hands through his hair. "I missed you," she said as he grinned, and kissed her again.

"I thought this was supposed to be an area for the sick and injured," came Athos' drawling voice from the infirmary doorway.

"And you are neither," said Christine, stooping to toss a roll of bandages at the man. "Now get out unless you'd like to acquire a need for those bandages," she said. Aramis laughed and wrapped his arms around her tightly, restraining her and kissing her neck as he did so.

Athos smirked and quirked an eyebrow. "The Captain wants to see us," he said, "Should I tell him you're otherwise engaged?"

Aramis sighed heavily. "Duty calls," he said, and grasping Christine by the hand he kissed the inside of her wrist. "I'll be right back," he promised.

The marksman floated up the stairs in front of Athos, the swordsman smirking at the change in his brother's mood. It had rained the last two nights on the road, dampening all of their moods. Athos felt a sudden pain pierce his chest as he too, if only for a moment, could recall how to love and be loved by a woman could change everything. He pushed the thoughts of _her_ aside and focused instead on the wooden steps underfoot.

Porthos and D'Artagnan were already at attention before the Captain. Aramis and Athos took their positions in line.

"Gentlemen," began the Captain. "I trust your journey to Le Havre went well?"

Athos looked quickly at his brothers before responding. "No complaints," he remarked.

Treville raised an eyebrow but did not inquire at the restless expressions on his men's faces. Looking down and shuffling some papers around on his desk, Treville continued. "Take the next two days off to recover from your journey," he said as his men fought the urge to leap for joy. The road to and from Le Havre was a difficult one and no doubt his men would be stiff and sore. "When you've sufficiently recovered from the road, there has been a rumour of a trader who has been dealing in stolen goods. I want you to look into that. See if there's any truth to it."

The men nodded at their dismissal and headed for the door.

oOo


	13. Saints and Sinners, Ch 2

**A/N: This story has been a difficult one to write and it may be difficult for some to read. It will will cover some adult themes. I can only say I wrote this episode honestly, without any intention to offend anyone with the portrayal of its content. That being said, here goes.**

 **oooooooooooooo**

 **Saints and Sinners, Ch. 2**

The next two days were near perfection for Christine and Aramis.

They spent their mornings in bed, discussing philosophy and theatre or with Aramis reading poetry from Christine's impressive library. They went for rides in the afternoon with a picnic in tow and spent the days languishing in the bright sunshine. He made love to her in the green grass outside of the city walls, away from the gossip of court or the call of duty or the propriety of station. Their evenings they drank richly from the Comtesse's wine cellar and from each other, reabsorbing all that they had missed of the other while parted, studying and memorizing every scar, freckle and beauty mark on the other's body.

The morning of the third day found Christine returned to the infirmary. Aramis had kissed her goodbye with that little wink that always made her heart flutter just a bit as he left the infirmary. She was smiling to herself as she restocked her shelves. She didn't notice the man watching her from the doorway.

"Heard that pup Adam's been hanging around here," said the man, startling Christine from her work.

"Oh! Gavreau! You startled me," she said.

"I like to catch 'em by surprise. Brings a different light to their eyes," he said cryptically. "Anyway, I said rumour has it, that that Mouse Adam's been playing around here while the Cat Aramis has been gone," he said, coming into the infirmary and leaning against the cabinet, blocking her way to the door.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she said to him tersely.

She did not know Gavreau, but she knew of men like him. This wasn't the first time she had seen him look at her like that, but it was the first time she felt…threatened? Vulnerable? Something else? She wasn't sure how to describe the feeling, but she was certain she didn't like it.

"Not sure what kind of fun that Mouse can offer ya," he said, leaning over her with a leer. "Wondering when I might get a turn to play," he said, his hand twitching at his side.

"Christine," called Etienne as he entered the infirmary carrying a small satchel. "Oh...Gavreau," he said, surprised as he took in the tableau before him. Something didn't seem right to him about the way Christine was standing. Her back was stiff and she was shielding her right arm with a metal tray.

Gavreau turned and with a big grin, he clapped Etienne on the shoulder as he left the infirmary.

"Are you alright?" he asked as Christine let out a deep breath and lowered the metal tray. She held a scalpel in her right hand, which shook as she lay it down.

"Yes," she said, "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he said as he stepped closer to his friend.

Etienne, like Aramis, was one of the few musketeers considered a field medic. Etienne's mother had been a gypsy and he had learned quite a bit of herb lore from her before joining the army. He and Christine and Aramis often traded knowledge about ways to treat certain wounds over a bottle of wine. When he looked at his friend, clearly shaken, his protective instincts kicked in.

"Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you? What did he say?" he asked, placing a hand on the trembling woman's arm.

"Nothing," she said, brushing him off, and taking the satchel from his hands, she began refilling jars with its contents.

"Christine," Etienne began again.

"It was nothing," she said, looking him in the eye. "Nothing to worry about. Promise me you won't tell Aramis," she said.

Etienne hesitated.

"Please," she said. "I don't want to cause trouble among the ranks over a few silly words, and I don't want to risk losing my position here because of it either. Please, Etienne. It really was nothing," she implored.

Etienne looked at her beseeching eyes and nodded his head slowly. He wouldn't say anything to Aramis, he promised, but that didn't mean he couldn't mention his suspicions to a few others…

oOo


	14. Saints and Sinners, Ch 3

**Saints and Sinners, Ch. 3**

The next few days at the Garrison passed as they usually did. Christine's week was interspersed with her attendance at court and a luncheon with the Queen in which she thanked her Majesty once more for advocating on her behalf for the role she now played in the regiment.

"I'm more than happy to," said the Queen. "Your talents would be wasted otherwise. France is better for your service."

Returning to the garrison, Christine was greeted by D'Artagnan in the courtyard of the Palace.

"Hello," she said, greeting him warmly. "Finished duty?"

"Yes," he said, grinning at her. "And just in time too. It seems as though I'll have the privilege of your company for the return trip to the garrison. Perhaps we can try to make Aramis jealous!" he said with a mischievous grin.

Christine laughed. She gladly took the young musketeer's arm as he led her down the familiar roads back to the garrison. As they neared the gates, Christine saw Gavreau exiting. She tensed slightly as he approached. D'Artagnan glanced at her quickly when he felt her react.

'Afternoon Comtesse," said Gavreau with a mock bow.

"Gavreau," said D'Artagnan. All the humour that had accompanied the pair on their walk from the palace vanished instantly.

"Are you her next treat, D'Artagnan? I'd be careful. She seems to have quite a taste for musketeers."

"Everyone but you it would seem," said the Gascon coldly.

Gavreau grinned. "Come now lad, you know these high-born whores like to be rolled around in the mud. I'll just wait my turn. I heard she's gotten through half the garrison already!"

Before Christine could stop him, D'Artagnan had launched himself at Gavreau and delivered a vicious punch to the man's face.

"How dare you," he snarled as the man reeled, hand clasping his jaw. "I should kill you for those filthy words," he said and made to pull his rapier.

"Please," said Christine, pulling back on his arm and preventing him from drawing. "It's not worth it. They're only words."

D'Artagnan stopped, his brown eyes burning like the gates of hell as he glared at the vile musketeer.

"You're going to regret that," Gavreau said, glaring at the two of them, and spitting blood at D'Artagnan's feet, he turned and marched away.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Christine said quietly, her hand still restraining the musketeer who looked as though he wanted to follow after Gavreau to continue their conversation with blows.

He turned rapidly towards her. "He had no right to talk to you that way. Nor should he speak to any woman in such a manner."

"They're only words D'Artagnan," she repeated with a sigh, still not looking in the musketeer's eyes.

"Ill words broker ill deeds," he said. Looking at her face he said, "How long has he been bothering you?"

Christine folded her arms across her chest. "It's been a few weeks now, since I started helping in the infirmary – but it hasn't been more than snide remarks and gross insinuations," she added seeing his reaction.

"Christine, you need to inform Treville!" he cried.

"No!" she said back firmly though keeping her volume down. "I would lose my position if I did."

"But your safety – "

"Is fine! I'm a grown woman D'Artagnan, I can take care of myself. They are just words. Please, don't say anything about this."

"You need to tell Aramis at least. Or Athos. Either of them. Both of them!"

"No," she said putting a calming hand on his arm. "If this is your reaction, imagine theirs! I will not cause a disturbance in the regiment over some bruised feelings. Please D'Artagnan, if you are truly my friend you will let this go."

He looked at her, grey-blue eyes begging for his agreemeent. "Alright," he grumbled and taking her hand he gave it a squeeze, "But if he says anything again, if he tries anything, you'll come tell me right away."

"I promise."

oOo

As they entered the garrison they saw Aramis and Porthos sitting at their usual table. D'Artagnan looked at Christine and frowned. This would be more difficult than he thought.

"Anything the matter?" Aramis asked as the two approached, exchanging a quick glance.

"Just fine," she said brightly as she breezed past him for the infirmary.

"What about you?" Porthos asked D'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan grimaced and stared after the comptesse.

"Nothing," he said. "Stomach bug," and retreated to the stables.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look, then rising, they split up, Aramis in pursuit of Christine and Porthos after D'Artagnan in the stables.

oOo

"Hey, kid, what's eatin' ya?" he said as he found D'Artagnan aggressively attacking a hay bale with a pitchfork.

"It's nothing," he said with another vicious lunge into the offending hay. His horse in the stall next to him shuffled agitatedly.

"Come now. Out with it," he said, stepping between the Gascon and the straw.

Frustrated, he tossed the pitchfork against the wall and said, "How well do you know Gavreau?"

Porthos' expression darkened. "Not well," he said. "I always try to avoid his sort, lest I lose my temper. Why?"

"Has he ever said anything…done anything…?" D'Artagnan trailed off.

"He's a loudmouth and crude, but he's a good fighter," Porthos said, looking at the young man with concern. "Did he threaten ya or somethin'?"

"I just don't trust him is all," said D'Artagnan, helplessly. He hated lying to his brothers but he had sworn he wouldn't say anything.

Porthos frowned. He could tell D'Artagnan was hiding something, but he knew better than to pry. With a small smile D'Artagnan and Porthos left the stables to fetch an apple or carrot for his horse as an apology for perturbing it.

oOo

The infirmary door was open as he approached it.

He knocked lightly, but she didn't seem to hear him.

Christine stood in front of the medical cabinet, but didn't seem to register anything that was in there.

She jumped backwards as he lay a hand on her back, clutching a dagger that she kept hidden in the folds of her skirt.

"Aramis!" she gasped. "You startled me!"

Aramis frowned at her, his hands up to show her he was unarmed.

"You're startled? You've never pulled a blade on me before," he said as he lowered his hands and took a seat on the bed across from her.

She straightened up and tucked the blade away, blushing slightly.

"I'm sorry,' she said as she began fidgeting with the bottles lined on the cabinet shelf. "I'm a little distracted."

"Did something happen at court?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing at her odd behaviour.

"What?" she said distractedly. "No, everything was fine. I had a lovely luncheon with the Queen," she said.

"Christine," he said rising and taking her hands in his, he kissed the inside of her wrist and placed her palm on his chest. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing," she said, giving him a small smile. "I must just be tired. Will you take me home?"

oOo

The night was cloudy and the rain fell heavily. Christine clung to Aramis as they lay together in the bed.

Something was troubling her, he knew, but she deferred and deflected every time he had asked her that night. He stroked her back, his fingers entwining with her dark hair as he stared up at the bed's canopy. In his heart he knew that he would go to any lengths to protect her, to ensure that she was happy. This feeling of not knowing, this helplessness he felt was almost more than he could take. She curled a little closer into his side and he kissed the top of her head, praying that she was receiving the relief or assistance in that action that she would not ask him for when awake.

oOo


	15. Saints and Sinners, Ch 4

**Saints and Sinners, Ch. 4**

The next day at the garrison was a busy one.

The Inseparables were sent out on a mission and the cadets were practicing their fencing.

One weak defence and an over aggressive riposte saw one cadet in the infirmary with a gash to his forehead. Christine treated the wound as Etienne looked on. When finished, she sent him to see if Serge had any fresh rosemary on hand.

She was stripping linens from the bed when she heard the door creak behind her.

"Just leave the rosemary on the cabinet," she called over her shoulder.

She straightened when she heard the door click closed.

Blocking the exit stood Gavreau. A blue smudge on the left side of his face showed the impression D'Artagnan's fist had made; the man's red nose, eyes, and teeth showed the impression the wine he had drunk had made.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him sternly.

"Nothing," he said and took a teetering step towards her.

"I'd prefer you to leave," she said as she stepped backwards, hitting the foot of the bed.

He said nothing but kept sliding towards her.

"I want you to leave," she said, loudly now.

"Tell me what you really want," he sneered as he closed the remaining distance between them. He grabbed her throat and pushed her down on the bed, his heavy body falling on top of her. He grabbed her arms and pinned them over her head as she struggled with him. He smelled of sweat and cheap wine.

"Get off me!" she gasped as she fought him, his hand still at her throat. Releasing her throat he lowered his hand and began making clumsy, drunken pulls at her gown.

"Get off me!" she roared managing to bring a knee up into his mid-section. He grunted and growled again, his hand making a grasp for her throat once more.

Suddenly the door to the infirmary burst open.

Adam and Etienne were on Gavreau in an instant, pulling him away from Christine who rolled onto her side on the bed. Adam began to pummel Gavreau, removing him from the room with Bernard who had rushed in after them and had witnessed the whole affair.

Etienne approached the bed cautiously where Christine lay, her body wracked with silent sobs, her hand on her throat. He sat gently on the bed and put a hand on her shoulder to comfort the shaking woman. He cringed when she flinched at his touch.

After a few moments she stilled. Slowly she sat upright, her head down, and fingers clasped in her lap, staring at them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have listened to you."

Etienne's heart broke as he looked at his friend, noticing how frail and delicate the normally vivacious woman looked. He placed his hands over her fidgeting fingers, hoping, praying to comfort her.

"Christine!" called Adam as he swept back into the room, his lip split and bleeding.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you? If he hurt you, I'll kill him!" he shouted.

"Adam! Calm down!" commanded Etienne, rising to stand protectively in front of the Comtesse.

Adam stepped around him and fell to his knees in front of her. He raised her chin so her eyes met his. His hands shook as he did so. A single tear fell from her eyes, which for once were lacking their normal fire. It terrified him. He wiped the tear away with his thumb.

Etienne stepped away, seeking to get the comtesse a glass of wine to steady her nerves.

"Are you okay?" Adam asked in a hushed murmur.

Swallowing, she nodded. His fingers hovered over the red marks on her throat.

She looked him in the eyes then and for the first time, she was finally aware.

In that moment when she was feeling most vulnerable, she realized that Adam was in love with her.

And she knew that in that same moment that she would have to hurt him – her friend, her saviour – because through it all, through everything, one word kept echoing through her mind like a prayer: "Aramis". He was the one she had hidden this from – hidden her fears and her doubts. He was the one she had tried to protect. It was his vengeance that she was sheltering, and it was his hands and lips that she wanted to make her forget what had almost just happened.

"I'm sorry," she said, his hand freezing where it hovered. "I want Aramis," she said, voice barely more than a whisper.

Adam blanched at her words as though she had literally torn his heart from his bleeding chest.

"Of course," he coughed, rising to his feet. "The bastard's been chased from the garrison. If he comes around here again, he's a dead man," he said.

"Adam," she whispered and grasped his hand, her eyes begging him to understand.

He nodded sadly at her. "Don't worry," he said. "Aramis should be here soon," he said and left the infirmary.

Christine leapt to her feet. She couldn't be in that room right now, not after everything. She looked at the sheets that lay discarded on the floor. The side table had been knocked over in the fight, the water pitcher up-ended, its content spilled over the floor. There was blood on the mattress, she noted, and bringing her hand to her face, her fingers grazed a small cut to her cheek. Her wrists were red where he had grasped them, pinning her down on the bed.

She had never felt so weak. She had never felt so ashamed. She knew how to fight, was excellent with a pistol and a sword, but in that moment she had been helpless.

She backed up suddenly, the cabinet door slamming as she backed into it. She had to get out of there. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out.

She ran to the door and slipped out, grateful for the near empty garrison as twilight descended and the sun began to sink below the rooftops of Paris.

oOo

He had been waiting for her, watching from the shadows. When he saw her staggering through the garrison gates he grinned. His body ached from the retribution delivered to him by Bernard and that mouse Adam. He pulled out his pistol. He would get what he wanted this time; he would get what he deserved.

oOo


	16. Saints and Sinners, Ch 5

**Saints and Sinners, Ch. 5**

She didn't see him as she staggered from the gates. She didn't see him until it was too late.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her into an alleyway as she fought against him. She yelped as the pistol was slammed into her ribcage, knocking the wind from her lungs. He pressed her up against the wall with the arm clutching the pistol, the mouth of which he placed under her chin as his forearm held her in place. She let out a sob as his weight crushed against her.

"That's it, cry for me," Gavreau snarled, his hand tearing her dress at its shoulder.

"Get away from her!" yelled a voice, cold with fury.

Gavreau suddenly pulled her in front of him using her as a human shield. Adam stood at the mouth of the alley, pistol primed, searching for a shot. Gavreau pressed his pistol into Christine's side, its mouth pressing hard against her ribcage. His other hand was on her neck and chest, keeping her in front of him. She felt his foul breath on her neck and shuddered.

"Let her go!" Adam shouted, his voice echoing into the street. A few people had gathered. One took off, running in the direction of the Garrison.

"I've had just about enough of you getting in my way!" roared Gavreau, turning his pistol to aim now at Adam.

"Let her go and we can settle this as men, with honour, in a duel," he said.

Gavreau sneered. "Like men? You're hardly a man, simpering after this whore like a lost puppy! You're a fool. A man knows that he needs to take what he wants."

"Let her go," Adam repeated, "and we can handle this with honour," he said, and he lowered his pistol, trying to defuse the situation.

Gavreau howled in laughter. "You'd fight me? To the death? You'd sacrifice yourself, for her? Why?" he sneered as he pressed the pistol barrel harshly into her ribcage once more, so she shuddered in pain.

"Because I'm in love with her," said Adam, pain and defeat clear in his voice as he locked eyes with Christine. She looked back at him, trying to keep the fear and pain from showing in her eyes.

"Then you're a bigger fool than I am," sneered Gavreau as he turned the pistol and fired it at Adam.

"No!" screamed Christine, as she pushed back at him, and grasping the dagger that was hidden in her skirts, she plunged it upwards, burying it to the hilt in the evil man's chest.

She watched as the panic replaced the surprise in Gavreau's eyes. "You deserve this," she hissed as she pulled the blade free and the man fell face forward to the ground, his body twitching in its final moments.

"Adam!" she shouted, "Adam!" In an instant she had flown to his side.

Red was blossoming from the entry wound low on his right side. She immediately began to apply pressure to the wound. He was losing blood quickly. She tore the hem from her skirt and wadded it up beneath him where she could feel the exit wound also seeping blood.

"Hold on! Hold on!" she whispered to him urgently. "I've got you!" she wiped his hair from his forehead, leaving a streak of blood on his brow.

She held his eye contact, her hands still desperately trying to stem the blood. He raised a bloodstained hand, which gently tangled in her dark hair that had spilled over the shoulder of her torn dress and slowly lowered it as he lost consciousness.

"Adam!" she shouted, trying to rouse him.

"Christine!" she heard her name being shouted and the clatter of boots on cobblestone.

"Aramis!" she cried as he flung himself down at her side. "You have to help him! Please! You have to save him!" she cried desperately.

Aramis gave her a pained look and replaced her hands with his on the wound. Etienne was on the other side and with Porthos' help, they rolled Adam onto a stretcher and took off for the garrison.

She felt, rather than saw, strong hands lift her from the ground.

"Are you alright?" she heard D'Artagnan whisper into her ear as he carried her from the carnage of the scene.

"You were right. I should have told him," she whispered, closing her eyes and blocking out the world as she lay her head on his shoulder. "This is all my fault."

oOo


	17. Saints and Sinners, Ch 6

**Saints and Sinners, Ch. 6**

The scene at the garrison was bedlam when D'Artagnan arrived carrying an unconscious Christine into the garrison. He met Treville who was holding back Bernard who was desperately trying to get into the infirmary to check on Adam. Both men froze as D'Artagnan came into view.

Bernard gasped when he saw her.

"What happened?" he demanded as he rushed over to him, Treville following.

"Not sure. Gavreau is dead," said D'Artagnan, as Bernard shot him a dark and knowing look that Treville did not miss.

Christine was pale, almost ghostlike as she lay in the Gascon's arms. She was covered in blood, a mix of Adam's, Gavreau's and maybe her own, Treville thought as he looked at her torn dress, the cut on her cheek and the violent bruising on her neck and chest.

"Not here," Treville said, removing his own cloak and covering her with it. "Bring her to my office."

"Not the infirmary?"

"No," said Treville, as he saw Aramis anxiously exit the infirmary wiping blood from his hands as he marched towards them.

D'Artagnan nodded and proceeded to ascend the stairs, Treville, Bernard, and Aramis following.

They settled Christine on the bed in Treville's office. Aramis covered her once more in the cloak and blanket, his shaking hand gently grazing her neck, eyes full of misery, before Treville turned to his men.

"How is Adam?" he asked.

"He's unconscious, but resting. The bullet did not hit anything vital. She managed to slow the bleeding and we got to him in time…barring any infection, he should recover fairly well," Aramis whispered as he stroked Christine's hair, his eyes never leaving her face.

Treville nodded. "Alright, you two. Speak," he commanded.

Bernard and D'Artagnan looked at each other and then at Aramis before D'Artagnan swallowed and began to speak.

"Sir, she begged me not to say anything, but I shouldn't have listened. Yesterday while we were returning from the palace, the Comtesse and I ran into Gavreau as he was heading out of the garrison."

"To get drunk more than likely," spat Bernard. Treville ignored the interruption.

"Upon meeting us, he began to hurl slurs and insults at Christine…he insinuated…he said…" D'Artagnan looked at Aramis and struggled for words. The marksman had grown very still.

"No need to go into specifics. I can image what crudities he might have said," Treville replied.

"Let's just say that he and I disagreed about how you speak to a woman. He left claiming I'd pay for striking him. Christine begged me not to say anything. She was afraid that…that Aramis might overreact if I told him, and that she might lose her position in the infirmary if you knew, over what were only words, she said. She said that this had been going on for a few weeks – since she began her role in the garrison, but it was only words and there was no point in causing discord in the regiment over ill words and hurt feelings. I…I…promised her I wouldn't say anything, and she swore she'd tell me if it happened again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Aramis," he said, pleading to his brother.

Treville nodded and looked at Bernard who had paled considerably as D'Artagnan spoke.

Clearing his throat, Bernard began. "I had noticed the way he had been following her," he said, "And I had heard a few of the comments he had made while drunk, in the tavern, but when Etienne came to me about a week ago and told me about what he had walked in on, I started paying more attention to how he focused on her. How he watched for when Aramis was away from the garrison…"

"What happened a week ago?" Aramis interrupted. His voice sounded hollow, as though he were speaking from the bottom of a grave.

Bernard bit his lip. "Again, I'm not entirely sure. Etienne only said that he had walked into the infirmary and Gavreau had her backed up into a corner. He said she had been holding a tray and a scalpel almost like a sword and shield. She was shaken when Gavreau left, but she insisted that Etienne not say anything. She's trying to protect you, you see!" he said to Aramis imploringly. "She was afraid that you might react the way any of us would if we were in that situation. She didn't want to tell you, sir, because she was afraid that if you thought she was a distraction, you would release her from her duties," he said.

Aramis grit his teeth and clenched his fists. Treville looked as though he had turned to stone and with a great effort he nodded for Bernard to continue.

"This evening, Adam and I were walking Etienne back towards the infirmary – he had gone to ask Serge for some rosemary from the kitchen at her request. We heard her shout and something crash to the floor. We entered the infirmary and he was on top of her. He had her pinned to the bed. He was trying…" Bernard couldn't finish. His eyes fell to the floor as D'Artagnan roared his outrage. From the bed in the corner, Christine stirred, the cloak falling slightly to reveal the bruising on her neck and the torn sleeve of her dress. Aramis burried his face in his hands.

"Adam and I saw red. We tore him off her and threw him out into the courtyard. He swung out wildly knocking Adam off his feet as he ran from the garrison. I pursued him as Adam ran back to check on Christine. I only just got back."

"It would seem that he had been waiting for her," said Athos, who no one saw enter, each syllable dripping with fury. "He hid in the shadows like the vermin he was and pursued her as she exited the garrison. Adam must have seen her leave. He followed her and found them in the alley. She fought him, but Gavreau had a pistol pressed against her and was trying to force himself on her," he said coldly.

From the bed, Aramis let out a sob, his hand fisted in the sheets and her skirt.

"The people said Adam stopped him," Athos continued, struggling to control his anger in the face of his brother's misery. "He tried to negotiate, challenged him to a duel, to fight with honour and let Christine go. He lowered his weapon and Gavreau shot him. Christine managed to push him off as he fired, probably throwing the shot off. She stabbed him with her dagger."

Athos' words lay there like a body in the room.

"I'm sorry," came a soft whisper. "This is all my fault."

Five men's necks snapped as they looked at her. She had inched her way into the corner of the bed, the cloak clenched to her chest, her back pressed against the iron headboard.

"Christine" said Treville slowly as he made his way forward, taking a seat in the chair next to her. "None of this is your fault. None of it," he said firmly. "This should have been a place of safety for you – for anyone. The fact that you suffered this under my watch…"

"I'm sorry, I should have said something," she said as silent tears fell. "I should have told you," she said, her eyes boring into Aramis, who dropped his head and looked away. "I knew I should, - I wanted to but I was afraid...and I was embarrassed," she continued. "I never should have made you lie to your brothers," she said to D'Artagnan, "Or have made your brothers hide this from you," she said desperately to Aramis.

"I should have told you Captain. I should have trusted your judgement, but I couldn't. I was a liar and a coward and now Adam…and I…" she stammered, "I killed him…"

She broke off, her silent miserable tears overpowering her ability to speak as she stared at the blood that still stained her hands.


	18. Saints and Sinners, Ch 7

**Saints and Sinners, Ch. 7**

The room fell silent, if only for a moment, until Aramis stood abruptly and strode from the room. D'Artagnan followed right behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" D'Artagnan cried, grabbing the man by the shoulder before he could make it to the balcony's stairs. Dead eyes stared back at him and he was struck silent by the vision of his brother's grief and anguish.

"D'Artagnan, go inside." Treville commanded as he entered the balcony.

D'Aratagnan hesitated for only a moment before storming back into the office.

Aramis ran his hands through his hair and clasped them at the back of his head. He slowly brought his face forward until his brow was resting against a support pole. His eyes were clenched tight to stifle the scream that was echoing through his mind.

"The boy is right," said Treville. "What do you think you're doing?"

Aramis spun on his spot. "Do you think I have any idea?" he said desperately to the Captain. Fear, guilt, pain and anger were all palpable in his voice. "Can you even imagine how it feels to learn that all this happened to the woman you loved - that she was targeted in a place she felt safe, where she was attacked and nearly raped in a place she loved - and I knew nothing, NOTHING of it?! That I, who have sworn to protect and defend her, to lay down my life for her – that she didn't tell me any of this because she wanted to protect me?"

Aramis ran his hands through his hair, and quite suddenly threw up over the edge of the balcony, his body reacting to the tumult of emotions inside him. He brought his head to rest on the balcony railing.

"How can I deserve her if I can't protect her?" he whispered desolately.

"It's difficult," said Treville softly as he stepped forward and leaned on the balcony railing next to the medic. "Perhaps ask Porthos what it's like to love a brother who regularly throws themselves in the line of fire to protect those he loves. Ask Athos what it's like to love someone who routinely offers themselves up to spare another. Ask D'Artagnan what it's like to love someone who puts their own well-being last if it means helping or protecting someone else."

Aramis stood and leaned his back against a pole, but he couldn't meet Treville's eyes.

"Ask me what it's like to knowingly send a man I've known since he was the age of 16 into battle," he said turning Aramis to look into the bright blue eyes of the man who practically raised him.

"Don't you see? You and she are the same, Aramis. You share the same soul, the same heart and it's too big for your own good," he said, his blue eyes burning with a fierce pride. "She loves you Aramis. She needs you. This has scared you, I know. The thought of losing her…but if you don't go to her now, you WILL lose her," he said, "All that she suffered, she did so to protect you. Don't let your fear or anger over what could have happened or what did happen disregard that sacrifice."

"How can she ever forgive me for not being there? How can I ever be worthy of her?" Aramis asked desperately.

"As a musketeer, you can't be by her all the time…And I know she doesn't blame you for any of this. If anything, I'm to blame for allowing that bastard into this regiment," Treville said angrily. He drew a breath to control himself. "You love her Aramis, and if she returns your love, which it's obvious to a blind man that she does, then you are worthy of each other. You will protect each other. You will get past this together. I believe in you," Treville said softly.

Aramis let out a deep sigh and ran his hands through his hair as he raised his head to look at the man, who even still, after so many years, acted like more of a father than his real father ever had. His brown eyes burned brightly as he stepped forward and re-entered the office.

oOo

D'Artagnan was sat by the Comtesse's bedside as Aramis re-entered. She had his hand grasped in hers. He stood as Aramis approached.

D'Artagnan kept his head lowered, trying to hide the tears that had fallen from his dark eyes with his brown mane. Aramis stopped him before he could leave. The marksman searched the eyes of his younger brother. Misery, and regret, understanding and loyalty, but most of all love were warring in D'Artagnan's eyes.

Aramis pulled the Gascon into a tight embrace. D'Artagnan choked on a laugh as relief emanated from him in the embrace. They pulled apart and D'Artagnan wiped at his eyes. The two men grinned at each other. No words were needed.

"I left Adam in the care of Porthos and Etienne," Aramis said awkwardly to the others in the room as he caught each one's eyes in turn. "Perhaps you might relieve them. Maybe see if Serge has anything left to eat. Adam will need a broth prepared for when he wakes…" The three men smiled at him and left the room, following their Captain down to the infirmary.

They were alone now. Aramis approached Christine where she remained pressed into the corner of the bed. He joined her on the bed, and placing a hand gently behind her neck, his fingers entwining themselves once more in her hair, he leant forward and kissed her.

He kissed her like it was for the first time, as if it were the last time, savouring the knowledge that he would kiss her thousands and thousands of times again. He kissed her for the fear she felt, the fear he felt, and the relief that she was still there, that she was still his, that she hadn't been harmed.

"You came back to me," she whispered.

"Always," he murmured and he kissed her again.

She told him everything then; how it began as simple leers and snide jokes, how she felt the first time he had trapped her in the infirmary, and why she had made D'Artagnan and Etienne hide her secret. She told him about her fear and her shame. She told him about the pain, about his hands around her throat, the feeling of his breath on her neck. She spoke of how she had killed him, how the life faded from his eyes, how it felt terrible, but right and justified. She told him how she loved him. She told him how through it all, all she could think of was him. How he would be the one to save her, how he would understand, how he would be the one to make her forget, and to soothe and heal her. How it was his hands, his lips that would be the ones to help put her back together. And he kissed her through her tears.

Then he told her of his fears, of his doubts, of his pain and of his anger. And he told her how he loved her. He told her of his shock, and his shame of not knowing, of not being able to stop this from happening. He told her of his love, of how his sun and moon only circled around her; how she was his stars, his guiding light, his divinity infinitum. And he told her how he loved her. He told her of his hopes and fears for their future, and how he fell asleep at night when he was on the road picturing the freckles that dusted her cheeks, dreaming of the day when he would see her next and recount them. He told her that he loved her. And she kissed him.

oOo


	19. Saints and Sinners, Ch 8

**Saints and Sinners, Ch. 8**

The crisp white sheets of the infirmary slowly came into view.

He struggled to focus.

He stared at the delicate hand that held his own, softly stroking his knuckles. He followed that hand up the length of the arm to the shoulder curtained in dark soft curls, to the pale beautiful face that burned with two opals. Her face.

"I'm so glad you're awake," she whispered.

"Christine," he murmured, his throat sore and dry.

Carefully she reached for a glass at his bedside and gently raised his head so he could drink. She lowered the glass and he raised his hand to gently encircle her wrist.

"Are you okay?" Adam whispered

She beamed at him and he felt his heart stutter. "I'm fine," she said, "You saved me."

His face grew troubled as he tried to remember what had happened.

"I heard your voice...You called to me. I could feel your hands on my…" Adam's right hand sought out the bandage that encircle his torso and he winced.

"I heard you, and I saw you," he said, and she smiled at him and nodded.

Adam struggled to sit up and she helped him arrange his pillows.

"Christine…" he began, as he struggled for the words, "Christine, I'm in love with you."

"Sh..." she soothed. "We don't need to talk about that now."

"We do," he said sadly. Her grey eyes met his green ones and his heart stuttered again.

"Christine, I'm in love with you, but I know you don't love me. Not in the same way. Not in the way I mean," he said. "I know that your heart belongs to Aramis, that it always has and likely always will. And I know that Aramis loves you as completely as you love him - And I'm happy for you, I truly am," he said, the words flowing quickly to hopefully make them easier.

"Adam," whispered Christine, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I love you Christine, so much so that I know I need to let you go. I know that I could never make you happy - not the way that Aramis does, and in the end, that's all I want – to see you happy, even if I'm not the one to make you smile the way you smile for him, the way you laugh when he's around, or the way your eyes sparkle when you see him return through the garrison gates," he choked out desperately. "I love you Christine enough to know that you belong with someone else; enough to know that I need to let this dream - that one day you might look at me the way you look at him - go."

A silence fell between them as tears slowly trickled down her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I do love you."

"I know, my friend," he said, and raising his hand to cradle her face, he wiped away her tears, "Just not in the way that I would wish." He smiled at her as his eyes began to close. "I only wish for you to be happy," he said. "Be with him."

Smiling at the man as he slowly fell back asleep, she leaned forward and kissed him, softly and chastely. "I will always love you, my friend," she whispered to him.

"And I will always be your friend," he replied as sleep took him and his eyes drifted shut.

oOo

Christine quietly closed the door of the infirmary; Aramis was waiting for her in the hallway.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Sleeping," she replied softly.

"Did he tell you he loves you?" Aramis asked sadly, his dark eyes worried.

She nodded and took Aramis by the hand. "He wants us to be together," she said with a smile that instantly eased the worry in his eyes.

"Christine..." he murmured as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. "What happened here..."

"What happened here was terrible," she said seriously as she stared into the depths of his dark eyes, "But I will not let that stop me from living my life. There are saints and sinners among all of us, Aramis. I refuse to let the thought of what might have been ruin my life. I am strong Aramis, and with your love and support I have nothing to fear; I am stronger because of it," she said, and kissing him deeply, they left the garrison, their hands clasped tightly together.

oooooooooooooooo

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **This was a story I really struggled with. I wanted to show the dangers for a woman working in a "man's world" like this. Not all musketeers can be good guys. I wanted to show the others realizing and acknowledging this threat and their reactions to one of their own showing that they too are capable of horrible things. Mostly, I wanted to show that Christine could get past it; that she wouldn't let this traumatic event stop her and she could walk away from this stronger.**_

 _ **Once again, thank you for all your encouragement throughout this story. Your feedback is truly valued.**_


	20. What Love Is Worth, Ch 1

_When everything falls apart, is it possible to put the pieces back together?_

* * *

 **What Love Is Worth, Ch. 1**

They stood on the hilltop next to the carriage and looked down at the city of Paris that sprawled in front of them. The musketeers stood at attention as the King's cousins surveyed the city and stretched, trying to relieve some of their stiffness from the long journey.

"Well, I guess this is supposed to show us the grandeur of Paris," Valentina, the Duchess of Modena told her brother in Italian as she stood, unimpressed, next to the carriage.

"If the journey is any indication, this trip will be insufferable," her brother Marcello, Duke of Mantua replied as he tried to work the soreness from the ride out of his shoulders. "I can't wait to be free of this carriage," he responded as he frowned and looked down on Paris.

The Italian nobles stood there surveying the city with contempt, both disdaining the need to leave Venice in order to shower platitudes upon their out-modish cousin. Valentina was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, with rich brown hair and dark eyes that seemed constantly imbued with scorn. She was outwardly beautiful, but she was spoiled, cruel and jaded having lived her entire life in the lap of luxury and privilege. She had a malicious heart and cared only for her own pleasures, and for her brother.

Marcello was more amendable than his sister, but he too had been hardened by wealth and exposure. He was difficult to impress – in fact very few things managed to capture his focus for more than a few moments. He was an accomplished soldier, an artist and a philosopher and carried a _devil-may-care_ attitude born on the battlefield into court with him, which when coupled with his charm, easily won him admirers and allies.

"Oh, I don't know, at least our escort is handsome." she said looking at the musketeers standing nearby, her eyes lingering on one in particular.

He rolled his eyes at his sister. "You promised you would behave on this trip. Think of your poor husband," he said with a grin.

She laughed as he helped her back into the coach. "I'm trying not to," she said making a face. "I promise I will behave but that doesn't mean I can't entertain myself while we're stuck in this miserable city," she said coyly as the carriage lurched forward on its way towards the Louvre.

oOo

Athos, Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan escorted the Italian nobles and cousins of Louis into the gilded throne room of the Louvre.

"Ah! Cousins! It's about time!" said the King, rising to his feet and gesturing to his relations.

"Forgive us cousin, the road is long," said Valentina as she curtsied low before the King. "It fills my heart with joy to see you," she said with a smile that couldn't break the cold depths of her eyes.

"And you cousin, are more radiant than I remember," he said as he stepped down from his platform and took her hand as she rose.

"It is good to see both your majesties looking so well," she said to the Queen who smiled at her.

"You are truly the most fortunate out of all of us, cousin," said Marcello as he bowed to the King. "Wars could be started if only other nations could witness the beauty of the Queen of France," he said, as he kissed the Queen's hand.

Louis laughed loudly. "Ah, Marcello, as charming as ever. Come! Let me have you settled! I'm interested to hear what you thought of France as you journeyed here." The King called forward some servants and began commanding them about.

"Dear god," Valentina muttered to her brother in Italian once more as they were shuffled backwards slightly as the servants swept through the room in harried attempts to carry out the King's wishes. "Have you ever seen such a cow-like group of courtiers? How unattractive and unfashionable they all are! It will be insufferably boring here!" she said, her courtly mask unfazed by the condescension of her words.

"Excuse me, your Grace, but I would be careful of what you might say while in court. Some of us cows understand Italian. I worry that others might misinterpret your meaning…" said a woman's voice from behind them.

Valentina and Marcello turned; her eyes were blazed with anger and his with mirth as they beheld Christine, the Comtesse des Etoiles, who swiftly curtsied to the pair and made her way across the throne room.

"How dare she!" Valentina hissed.

"More importantly, who is she?" Marcello asked his eyes bright with laughter. His stay in Paris suddenly looked like it could be far more interesting than he had surmised.

oOo

"Hello," Christine greeted Aramis warmly as she approached him where he stood on guard by the terrace doors. "How was your journey?"

"Long, and tedious," he said smiling at her and dropping his voice he whispered, "but as always, returning to your smiling face makes every journey worthwhile."

She beamed at him and then turned away so they were standing side by side. Casually, she lowered her hand and shifted her skirt so their fingers could touch without witnesses.

The touch of her lover's hand elated Christine, and they both fought to stifle their smiles as the electricity passed through their fingertips. Though their love was free and open among the public, it was kept hidden at court where her status as a noble and his as a member of the King's guard threw complications onto their blissful romance.

With no male family members living, technically, it was to the King that Aramis would need to present his suit for Christine's affection – an antiquated tradition that aggravated the Comtesse excessively. She was a strong believer in a woman's right to independence, and education and this male dominated system disagreed with the philosophies that she had been brought up to believe in.

She reluctantly stepped away from Aranis as the King exited the room with his relatives and the Queen.

Marcello caught Christine's eye. She offered him a small apologetic smile as she curtsied with the other courtiers as they passed. She hoped that her comment had not registered as rude.

He turned his head to look back at her as he exited the throne room; his sister at his side stared straight ahead.

oOo

"I wonder who she is?" Marcello asked himself as they dined with the King and Queen that evening.

"Who?" asked the Queen, curiously as Louis and Valentina laughed loudly across the table, as the servants continuously refilled their wine goblets. It was clear that Italian women liked to drink.

Marcello smiled at the Queen. "There was a woman in court today that I should wish to meet," he said simply, which caught the King's attention.

"Oh?" replied Louis. "Has Cupid struck already? You've only just arrived! You've hardly had time to see the beauties of Paris," he said laughing.

"It is unlikely," Marcello replied with a smirk. "This woman…she said something that amused me. I appreciate a woman who isn't afraid to speak her mind. I should like to make her acquaintance," he said shrugging casually as he took a sip from his glass. "Plus she spoke Italian exceptionally," he said, his mocking eyes flashing at his sister who scowled slightly.

"I doubt very much that trivial conversation is all you have in mind," said the King with a wink. "Who was she? What did she look like?" he asked, his eyebrows wiggling at the prospect of this hunt.

Marcello laughed. "I hardly know," he said. "Few women can leave an impression on me like your beautiful Queen here," he said raising a glass to the Queen who smiled at him. "She was beautiful though. Striking, really. She had dark hair that was pulled off her shoulders. Her eyes were grey or perhaps blue. A combination of the two I believe. She wore a lilac gown and on her neck she wore a thin chain where three stars dangled."

"Most descriptive!" exclaimed the King.

"Yes," said Valentina wryly. "My brother does have an affliction for details, a side effect of his study of art I'm afraid," she said with a grin at the King who roared at her jest.

"I believe the woman you are referring to is the Comtesse des Etoiles," said the Queen with a thoughtful look.

"Ah yes!" exclaimed the King. "Christine – quite the beauty, and a particular favourite of mine. I've never met a more intelligent or interesting woman in all my life – save for the two of you, my dears," said the King as he raised his glass to his wife. She smiled at him tenderly, her hand moving to her belly where their long awaited child was growing. The King beamed back at her, doing very well for all the wine he had consumed.

"Worry not my dear Marcello, I believe an introduction can be arranged. Who knows," said the King, 'We may just make a Frenchman of you yet!"

oOo

In another part of Paris, away from these potential royal matchmakers, the Comtesse des Etoiles lay blissfully in the arms of her musketeer lover, their bodies having expressed how much they had missed each other, as they lay together bathed in the moonlight.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Welcome back! Just wanted to clarify a few things: This story makes no claims to being historically accurate! Not sure if Louis was actually related to this Duke or Duchess, but in this story he is! Also, as this is my AU, yes, the Queen is pregnant with Louis' child - no royal scandal in this universe! :-P**_

 _ **As always, I love hearing your feedback, and your ideas for where this story might go! Thanks again for reading!**_


	21. What Love Is Worth, Ch 2

What Love Is Worth, Ch. 2

The next evening, the King threw a party to celebrate the arrival of his cousins. The ballroom had grown hot with the celebrating and over-indulging nobles.

Valentina sat perched on a chaise near the King, scorning and flirting with a group of courtiers who simpered at her feet. She seemed to be quite enjoying herself.

Christine left the ballroom to escape the gossip, the falsity and the advances of the noble class.

She stood by the terrace's railing, savouring the coolness of the outdoors and appreciating the skill of the musicians whose melodies trickled lightly over the din of the party, the rest of the revellers ignorant of its brilliance. She tilted her head to better discern the sweet notes of the music.

"It's _Eurydice_ ," said Marcello as he approached the Comtesse where she stood next to the railing.

"I know," she said calmly, turning to face the man. "It's beautiful."

"So are you," he said smiling at her. She blushed and looked away.

"Forgive me. We have not been officially introduced and I fear my sister may have left you with a poor first impression. I am Marcello de Medici, Duke of Mantua," he said, bowing to her.

"Christine," she said simply and curtsied politely.

He smiled at her directness. "I believe I should apologize on my sister's behalf," he said.

She smiled and gave a small laugh. "There's no need. I expect you were both tired from your journey, and I think that I have actually had more riveting conversations with some cows than I have had with some of the members of court," she said.

He laughed out loud at her comment and she smiled at him again. Finding wit and beauty was a rare thing, he thought as they made their way back across the terrace towards the crowd of the ballroom.

"Your Italian is excellent," he said, "Where did you study?"

"My father taught me," she responded, "Though we did live for a while in Florence and Venice where I continued my education."

"That's impossible," he said, stopping to look at her. "Yours is a face I would not have forgotten had I met you at the Venetian court." Something inside him leapt as she blushed slightly once more.

"I was little more than a child at the time," she said. She cast her eyes towards the now emptying ballroom, relieved that she could excuse herself. She was very aware that she was alone with the handsome Italian.

"It seems as though the party has ended," she said as they entered the foyer that led towards the palace doors.

"Please let me summon a carriage for you," he said.

"I prefer to walk," she said smiling as she saw Aramis and Porthos approaching her.

"Unaccompanied? I won't hear of that! Please, allow me to have my coach called for you," he insisted.

"That's very unnecessary," she said. "My friends Aramis and Porthos, of his Majesty's Musketeers have promised to escort me, and they are the best of men," she said still smiling at the musketeers as they approached.

"Ah, yes. These are the men who accompanied us into the city. How do you do," he said, appraising the soldiers as the pairs met.

"Your Grace," said Aramis, as he and Porthos gave slight bows.

"It was nice to meet you," said Christine to the Duke as she beamed at Aramis, her eyes glowing as he offered her his arm. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your night," she said as she moved to step away from Marcello and towards the man she loved.

But the Duke stopped her, reaching for her hand.

"The pleasure was mine entirely," he said. Aramis' jaw tightened as the Duke bowed low and placed a kiss on the back of Christine's hand. The two men eyed each other as she stepped between them, taking Aramis' arm.

"I hope we can speak again soon," Marcello said as she made her way out of the palace with the musketeers.

oOo

Activity at the garrison was slow the next day. Guard duty was minimal as the King was ensconced in his room, recovering from his indulgences from the night before.

Christine was in the infirmary treating a cadet who had earned a cut to his brow from another's overzealous punch. As she bent over the young man, cleaning the wound she did not notice Aramis enter. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as he watched her place a row of small neat stitches across the small wound.

"Are you in any pain?" she asked the cadet as she stitched.

"Huh?" he asked distractedly. His eyes kept straying to the top of her bodice, lingering a little longer than they should.

"I asked if you were in any pain?" she repeated.

"What…no…" he said distractedly.

"How about now?" she said as she cuffed the ear on the side of his head that did not bear her stitches.

"Ow!" he yelped.

"A gentleman, Maurice, does not stare at a woman as though she were a Christmas goose!" she scolded.

The boy turned the colour of beets. "No Miss, of course not, I'm sorry," he said as he covered his ear. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," she warned.

"The way to a woman's heart is through her brain, not her bodice," said Aramis sternly, but his eyes burned with humour. "Thank you Mademoiselle Comtesse. I'm sure this is a lesson that Maurice won't soon forget. Especially after he's completed stable duty for the next week."

The young cadet's shoulders sagged, but he nodded his head sagely.

"Thank you, my lady," he said sincerely as he bowed to her and left the infirmary, stitches forgotten, but his hand covering his tender ear.

"You didn't need to give him stable duty," Christine said as he crossed her arms and looked at the marksman.

"I know," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. "But perhaps it will help the lesson sink in – and will save his other ear from your wrath," he said. "Though to be fair, it's hard to fault the lad," he said grinning mischievously. "You really have no idea how beautiful you are."

She tried to pretend to be angry, but she was helpless in the face of his beautiful dark eyes. She soon found herself laughing as he covered her neck and shoulders with his lips, his hand toying with the laces of her bodice.

"What happened to the path to a woman's heart not being through her bodice?" she asked breathlessly pulling him into the back room, as she dropped the sash and weapons belt from around his waist.

"At this moment," he panted as she pulled him against her, the fingers of her hands running through his hair and pushing at his jacket, her mouth leaving its own trail along the exposed flesh of his neck and chest, "My main concern is for what's under this bodice," he said kissing her passionately as he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bed.

oOo

They emerged after a time grinning at each other with a flush in her cheeks and a button or two missing from the shirt beneath his doublet.

She kissed his cheek swiftly and ascended the stairs to give her report to Treville and to excuse herself for the day. Etienne was on hand for any medical emergencies, and days off like this were rare for the Comtesse and the Musketeer.

Aramis raised his hand to caress the mark her lips had just left on his cheek. Grinning he walked towards the table where Athos and D'Artagnan stood preparing for a fencing demonstration.

"Where have you been?" asked D'Artagnan as Aramis approached.

Aramis grinned a little sheepishly and raised an eyebrow, "Teaching?" he suggested; D'Artagnan blushed.

"Before D'Artagnan naïvely inquires any further as to your itinerary for the rest day, she appears to be coming this way," Athos said with a cool smirk on his lips. "I suggest you might take your extra-curricular activities elsewhere, as some of our younger men may be ill prepared for your lessons," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"I'm not going to live this one down, am I?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Not for a while at least," said Aramis with a grin.

oOo


	22. What Love Is Worth, Ch 3

What Love Is Worth, Ch. 3

Time passed quickly in the excitement and tumult of the Italians' visit. King Louis was determined to impress his significantly jaded cousins. It was for this reason that the four Inseperables and a group of their fellow musketeers found themselves assembled on the lawns of the palace. Christine smiled in greeting as she glided towards them, her pale gown matching her eyes exactly.

"I didn't know that you would all be here today," she said as she drew even with them. Aramis beamed at the sight of her and his hands went instinctively to her waist.

She smiled at him for a half second before D'Artagnan's cough reminded them that they were not necessarily among friends when on the palace grounds. She blushed and they stepped apart.

"Thank you," she whispered to D'Artagnan as she passed him to engage the Marquis de Varone in conversation. D'Artagnan frowned slightly and shook his head. It felt as though their love was infectious and it was a shame that his friends had to hide it at court, he thought.

oOo

Valentina sat poised at the fountain's edge watching the musketeers. She recognized the four who had escorted her to Paris. She looked at the handsome one, Aramis, and she pursed her lips. She had been requesting his presence whenever possible as she toiled away her time in the palace. She watched him as he stood guard, and chatted with him when she could. He was obviously charming, and she liked the way his dark eyes had a sense of mischief to them, as though he quite enjoyed getting into trouble.

The other one she found handsome too, the one with the intense blue eyes, but she was on holiday and had thought that Aramis, with his playful and easy manner, would be less work than the other and might help her fill her days. So far though he had rejected her advances, even her blatant invitations.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw the Comtesse des Etoiles approach those men. They burned with jealousy when she saw the light come to the musketeer's face when he saw her, and there, just for a moment – hardly a blink of an eye – they forgot themselves as he placed his hands upon her waist and she gazed up into his eyes.

"SO!" thought Valentina, a cruel smile playing on her lips, "It looks as though they're lovers!"

And instantly her game shifted.

She no longer dreamt of seducing the man – if that happened as a result of her quickly forming plot, well that would just be a bonus. Now, she was determined to sow discord, to bring a little darkness to the world of this woman who had dared to scold her and who had somehow managed to enrapture the musketeer and her brother too, it would seem.

She paused for a moment considering Marcello. He might not approve of her game, but he would thank her later if it resulted in the Comtesse's time becoming more available to him. And Marcello's happiness was all she wanted, after all…that and her own entertainment.

oOo

The King had arranged for entertainment on the lawns that day so the courtiers, with the musketeer escort, marched towards a pavilion that had been erected.

Christine walked next to Elisa, the daughter of the Marquis D'Orsay, chatting happily. Marcello approached them and bowed to the women, smiling. He carried a pad and some charcoals with him.

"I requested that the King have _L'Orpheo_ performed for you in its entirety," he said to Christine. "I know that you enjoy it."

"Did you really?" she said smiling at him. "Thank you! How kind," she said.

"But isn't that in Italian?" Elisa asked.

"Yes," said Christine excitedly. "Perhaps Marcello, could explain it to you," she said with a grin, which Elisa returned and batted her eyelashes at the Duke.

Marcello fought the urge to roll his eyes as the young woman gazed at him. Noble women were used to getting their way, but Marcello had always been more interested in the chase. The fact that Christine continuously sidestepped his advances did nothing to deter his interests in her. In the time that he had spent in her company at court, he consistently found her more and more compelling. She was able to discuss theatre and philosophy and he soon learned of her medical knowledge that she applied at the Musketeers' garrison. She was a responsible leader of her people and advocated for the poor, the working and the uneducated at court. She was clever and witty and his laughter with her was genuine.

And then there was the simple fact that Christine was beautiful. The other women at court tended to overdress, showing their wealth and power in the opulence of their gowns and the jewels that adorned their bodies. It was as though they all wore these beautiful costumes to hide the blandness of their personalities, but not Christine. Her dresses were well-made, but simple, more aligned with the fashions of Italy than the opulence and excessive lace of the French.

The more that Marcello thought on Christine, the more he began to realize how his feelings had evolved. He was no longer simply interested in the Comtesse – he was falling in love with her.

The one thing that seemed to constantly be standing in his way was the Musketeer.

He knew that they were lovers – he could tell from the instant they met and the man escorted the Comtesse from the palace that night of the party. They had sized each other up in that instant – a stallion can always spot his competition when a mare is around. Marcello was eager for the competition and eagerly continued to seek the Comtesse's company whenever possible. He rather enjoyed watching the Musketeer's reactions when the King sat Christine by his side, especially if he managed to make her laugh at a luncheon.

Marcello also knew that position and power won out in the end. The Musketeer had nothing he could offer the woman, where a life with Marcello promised to be one of ease, full of art and opera on his estate in Italy.

oOo

Aramis watched as the Duke approached her smiling and he scowled. He longed for the freedom of wealth and power, to declare his love for Christine before the entire court without damaging her reputation. Times were changing, he knew, but among many in this crowd, the ancient bloodlines were the only ones that mattered.

He smiled bitterly as he thought of his own lineage. As the bastard son of a minor noble, one whose name he had renounced, Aramis knew that he would never be able to offer Christine what a better-suited suitor could. These thoughts circled endlessly in his mind as he lay awake at night holding her in his arms. In those moments he would pull her closer to him, and breathe in the scent of her hair – lavender and mint – and he would be calmed, slipping into dreams about the taste of the salt on her skin as they made love, the feeling of her lips as she kissed him, and the colour of her eyes in the early morning light.

He was startled from his thoughts by a woman's laughter. "Come now musketeer. We haven't even reached the pavilion yet. You can't be so bored by the opera already," Valentina purred as she slithered towards him. To Aramis, it seemed she moved like a panther or one of those Amazonian serpents that were brought before the King – beautiful, but deadly.

He knew that she was interested in him, and in another life – the life before Christine – he would have been willing entertainment for a visiting beautiful noblewoman. Now though, Christine possessed his entire being. Who could ever call a match bright when they had seen the sun?

He smiled at the Duchess and replied, "I'm actually quite fond of this opera."

"Oh dear, both you and my brother. I'm sure the two of you have many loves in common," she said pointedly. "Oh! It looks as though he's engaged at the moment," she said and with her dangerous smile, she continued on her way towards the pavilion.

Aramis looked back at where the Duke stood and the way he smiled at the Comtesse and something stirred in Aramis' stomach.

"This would be too easy," Valentina thought as she saw the marksman winding his way to where her brother stood.

"The opera should be starting soon," Aramis said as he approached the three nobles.

Christine turned towards him and glowed, "Excellent, thank you Sir Musketeer. Perhaps you might assist me with the remainder of the walk to the pavilion."

He grinned, his smile only reflecting a hundredth of the elation he knew was visible in his eyes. With a brief bow in which they never broke eye contact, he replied, "It would be my honour, my lady."

She flushed with joy at the use of those final two words. It had become a joke to them at court, the double meaning behind that formality, but there was no doubt in her mind that she was his completely.

"The honour is mine," she said. Turning back to Elisa she said, "I'm sure the Duke would be happy to accompany you as well, dear Elisa."

Again, the noblewoman smiled at him, and he bowed to her and extended his arm. As they walked straight-backed towards the operatic pavilion, the Duke rolled his eyes as Elisa chattered inanely.

"You're living dangerously," Christine teased as she took Aramis by the arm.

He grinned at her and gave her a small wink. "It's hard for me to be so near to you for so long and not have you in my arms," he replied in a hushed tone. She had leaned close to hear him, and felt the low tremor of his voice wash over her as she tried not to betray how his words made her feel.

She caught his eye and smiled, raising her eyebrow suggestively, which caused him to stumble slightly. Her laughter carried over to where Valentina stood a little ways beyond them. She scowled and then smirked.

Taking a few steps toward her cousin the King, she suddenly collapsed at his feet in a dramatic display.

"Valentina!" cried Louis, rushing to where she lay, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead.

"Aramis!" called Treville to the medic, who was forced to relinquish his hold on his beloved to rush to the Duchess' side.

"Oh! Cousin," cried Valentina, "I suddenly feel quite faint. I fear I must miss the performance. The trek has clearly overtaxed me."

"Yes," said Louis, rather seriously, "And I know how delicate your disposition is, dear cousin."

"Thank you, your Majesty. You have always been so wise and understanding."

Louis smiled at her display. "Treville, have your man return my cousin to her suite at the palace. Someone fetch him a horse!" he shouted and turned to seat himself next to the Queen.

Porthos brought a horse to Aramis, which he mounted. Porthos lifted the actress Valentina onto the seat in front of Aramis where she dramatically clung to his chest. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and looked pointedly at Christine, a smile forming on her lips. Christine frowned, a flicker of doubt and confusion passing behind her eyes. Marcello, watching the scene play out smiled at his sister's game.

"Musketeer, you will escort my sister straight to her bedchamber, yes? I believe you know the way," he said.

From the corner of his eye he saw that Christine looked to Aramis at these words, apprehension written on her face. Taking her arm in his, he looked once more at Aramis and his sister, her smug smile he was certain was a reflection of his own.

"Do not worry about the opera," he said. "I'm certain you can be replaced. I'll ensure the Comtesse is partnered appropriately," he said and grinned as the clouds descended in Aramis' eyes and lighting flashed in their dark depths.

Valentina pressed herself against Aramis and purred, "I feel so safe when you have your arms around me." She smiled as she saw Christine wilt; an equal flash of hurt passed between the lovers as Aramis turned the horse and began to ride back across the lawns towards the castle.

Christine watched them ride off, worrying her lip. For all her poise and beauty she still had the doubts of a woman in love.

Marcello guided her towards a blanket that had been spread on the lawn and seated her on the chair, taking its partner for himself. As the music started and she grew lost in its melody, he opened his pad and began to draw.

oOo

Aramis had only ridden a few paces when he paused the horse and turned back for a moment to look at Christine. He saw as she was lowered on her seat, her hand within the Duke's, his other hand lightly grazing her back as he lowered her onto her seat and took the place beside her.

"You know," Valentina said softly, "This world you're living in is a fairytale."

He looked down at her, startled.

"You know you don't belong with her," she continued. "Yes, everything seems wonderful now, as all romances are in the beginning, but look at it rationally. What could you possibly offer her? You have no title, no wealth, you're a soldier, sworn to the service of the King. Even your day is not your own. You could never be more than her little secret. The Comtesse will need a rich husband who can help her care for her people, one who will be accepted as an authority at court. It's cruel of you to continue this fantasy. It's better you release her. For the sake of her title. And her people," Valentina purred.

His jaw clenched as they rode on in silence, her words spurring on all the same thoughts, doubts and fears that he had been wrestling with for some time.

oOo


	23. What Love Is Worth, Ch 4

What Love Is Worth, Ch. 4

They slept apart that night; Aramis' tumultuous mind just couldn't bring him to the blue door on rue St. Germain. He returned to his own apartments for the first time in what felt like ages and lay on his back stared at the ceiling and missed her. He missed the way her body curled perfectly into his as they slept. He missed the smell of her hair, the touch of her smooth skin and the feeling of her breath on his neck as she lay dreaming.

His brow furrowed as he thought about the day – of seeing Marcello next to her, and how easy it would be for the Duke to provide for her. The words of Valentina continuously echoed through his mind. A hollow feeling had settled in his stomach and an overpowering sense of doubt took up a residence in his heart.

oOo

Across the city, Christine sat by the fire reading from a book of poetry.

Not reading, really.

She had stared at the page for hours, her mind racing, but she hadn't absorbed a word. Something was different, something was wrong and when Aramis did not arrive at her home that evening, worry took hold. She retreated to her room without eating and had sat for hours struggling to finish a stanza.

When she closed her eyes all Christine could see was the way the Duchess had pressed herself up against him. It seemed familiar. Almost too familiar, and for the first time, Christine had doubts.

She had heard the rumours about Aramis as a libertine. She was not naïve. They had spoken honestly and openly about their former lovers. She was sure of his love, but she was also familiar with the ways of men – and determined women.

Could it be possible that Christine was simply another lovesick lady of court that had fallen for the marksman's charms? Her heart said no, but a new small voice in her mind that couldn't be silenced asked the words "Are you sure?"

As the bells of Notre Dame tolled the late hour she closed her book and went to her bed. How cold and empty it felt without him there; how cold and empty could her life be without him? He was the one who brought her warmth. She prayed that she would not be relegated to a lifetime of winters without him, because having felt the sun, who could be satisfied with the cold?

She closed her eyes as her head hit the pillow and she breathed deeply, imagining his smell as he lay beside her – like leather and smoke and something that was distinctly Aramis. She clutched his pillow to her chest and lay awake imagining him in her arms.

oOo

Their meeting at court the next day was strained. She missed the freedom of her life at the garrison, but while his cousins were visiting, the King was insistent on her attendance; the duties of the musketeers had been primarily reduced to guard and parade duty while the King was distracted.

They approached each other awkwardly, both pairs of eyes, brown and grey, were full of confusion and love – most of all love. They longed to take hold of each other and kiss away all the doubts and fears that were clawing at them. A boisterous group of courtiers reminded them of their presence at court. Christine dropped her eyes to the ground.

"Christine – " Aramis began, but was interrupted by the arrival of Valentina.

"Aramis," she said warmly as she inserted herself into the gap between the two lovers. Handing him a pair of gloves she said, "You left these in my bedchamber yesterday. I found the left one under my bed this morning. Good morning Christine," she said as she walked away, a delighted, cruel smile on her mouth.

"I don't know how these got there," he muttered confusedly. True, he had noticed that his gloves had been missing, but he had assumed that he had simply left them at the garrison. He had no recollection of having them as he escorted the Duchess to her suite, and he was adamant that he had not so much as glanced at the door of her bedchamber, let alone entered it, despite the Duchess's not so subtle suggestions.

He looked up from the gloves to the wide, hurt eyes of Christine. Pain and confusion was written across her face and Aramis' heart plummeted as he registered it. He could tell she had not slept the night before, and he hoped that was the cause of her sudden paleness. She brushed a quick tear from her eye. She couldn't fight the hurt and jealousy that she felt in that moment.

"Christine," Aramis began again in an urgent whisper, "I swear to you that I –"

"Ah! Comtesse! Are you prepared for today's hunt?" asked the King. "I've heard you are quite the shot!"

"Are you alright?" asked the Queen as she took in the pale complexion of the woman and the dark circles under her eyes. Christine glanced quickly at Aramis before shaking her head.

"I'm sorry your Majesties, I am suddenly under the weather. I think it best if I excuse myself from the entertainment for today and return home to rest," she said.

"Of course," said the Queen as the King pouted. The Queen had grown quite fond of the Comtesse since she had arrived in Paris. The Queen had found a confidant in the woman, and appreciated her candour, keen wit, and kind heart, so it was with great concern that she looked upon her friend in her miserable state. "I will have my carriage deliver you home," the Queen said, placing a kind hand on the woman's arm.

"Do feel better," said the King. "I expect to see you in attendance at the biennale we have planned for tomorrow evening. Come, Aramis," the King said turning to the marksman who bowed. "Treville says that you are my best with a musket. Let's see if I can show you a thing or two about how gentlemen hunt!"

Aramis bowed again as the King and Queen went to mount their horses. He stood rooted to the spot wanting only to kiss the hurt and exhaustion from Christine's face where they stood, but as the King called out his name once more, he was forced to follow.

oOo

He arrived at St. Germain just as dusk was settling in. The early May evening was unusually cool. He stood awkwardly in the foyer as Marie went to fetch her mistress. Distractedly, Aramis leaned against the sideboard. A number of pieces of parchment lay upon its surface. He picked one up and examined it. His blood ran cold.

"Aramis," Christine said breathlessly as she entered the room. "I didn't know if you'd be coming," she said, the hopeful smile on her lips vanishing as she looked at the marksman's expression.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked stiffly.

"No," she said confusedly. He dropped the papers he had been examining onto the table.

"Marie, can you excuse us please," Christine said softly to her maid as she saw what had upset the marksman. The girl exited the hall.

"Aramis," she said quietly, "It's just a drawing." She looked at the papers to see the image of herself captured in charcoal. Marcello had sent them over that afternoon. Unbeknownst to her, he had been sketching her as she watched the opera and had captured a very detailed likeness of her.

"It's quite good," Aramis said coldly. "Very intimate."

Her eyes flashed at him. "It is a gift. I did not know he was doing this. I am as surprised by it as you are," she said defensively.

"I'm not surprised, I'm just glad that someone is able to pay you attention when I'm not available," he said. He wasn't sure where this anger was coming from, but the drawing on the table staring up at him seemed only to spur him on.

But Christine was not having any of that.

"Do you really want to start discussing whose attention is focused where? Marcello is a friend Aramis, and though I cannot speak to his intentions, my interest in him does not extend beyond that. Your particular interest in the Duchess, however, may be cause for discussion. Mine and Marcello's friendship has never extended to his bedchamber!" she snapped at him.

They both stood there red-faced as their mutual pain and doubt settled in.

Taking a calming breath, Christine stepped towards him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said that. Please, Aramis, love, we can't let them do this."

"What?" he asked her miserably.

"This!" she cried, taking his face in her hands. "We can't let the nastiness of the court and the lies and the rumours that infest it come between us."

He closed his eyes and put his hands to her waist. Try as he might to deny it, the weight of his fears, his doubt and Valentina's word suddenly bore down on him.

"This can't work," he said slowly, feeling his heart breaking.

"Aramis…" she said, as he pulled her hands from his neck.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I need to think. You need to think about your people. What's best for you and for them," he said as he backed away towards the door.

"My people? Aramis, wait –" she said and made to follow him.

"Please," he said, "I need to think." He left the courtyard taking his horse from Victor. Christine lowered herself to her front stair and as she leaned against the doorframe, as she felt the coldness of night wash over her.

oOo


	24. What Love Is Worth, Ch 5

What Love Is Worth, Ch. 5

As one of the final celebrations marking the end of his cousins' visit, the King had arranged for a biennale – one that would put the Venetians to shame he had declared.

Aramis paced the periphery on guard duty, avoiding the costumed courtiers. The King and Queen entered dressed as a crowned Lion and Lioness. Valentina wore fitted black and green, poised perfectly as a viper.

Christine entered and people drew breath. Dressed as the night sky, she radiated in a midnight blue gown. Small gems dotted the skirt and bodice sparkling like the stars above them, and her head was crowned with a simple silver circlet. Aramis had to look away.

Porthos eyed the marksman nervously. He had found Aramis in his apartments the night before, the rooms ransacked. In his pain and anger Aramis had destroyed his normally pristine quarters. Porthos had begged for the man to explain what had happened, but all Aramis would say was that it had all been a dream.

Christine made her way through the crowd, desperate to find Aramis. She didn't care about hiding any more. She would declare her love for him in front of the whole court, if only it would bring him back to her. She reached the terrace door and stepped outside.

"I thought I'd find you here," said Marcello as he drew up behind her. "It's convenient we came dressed to match," he said and grinned, spreading his arms to display his costume.

"Perhaps it's fate that I come dressed as a wolf and you the night sky, as I have found that the more I see of you, the more I worship you," he said softly.

"Please Marcello, I don't have time for this. I am searching for Aramis," she said frustrated.

Suddenly he grew cold. "Aramis," he growled. "That common bastard? What is it about him? What hold does he have on you? He's little more than a servant!" the angry Duke spat at her.

"Silence," she commanded, her anger growing. "I am sick of you and people like you who only see value in a title. Aramis is the best man I have known – twice the man that you pretend to be with your posturing. What do you want from me?"

Marcello stood there, his cheeks burning. "He can offer you nothing," he said.

"And I want nothing, and need nothing. Only him! Don't you understand that? There is nothing that I need if I have his love," she said.

"Are you sure about that? Are you sure he feels the same? Perhaps he has finally wizened up and has listened to the voices of his betters!"

She struck him suddenly with all the force she could muster. "Get out of my sight," she said using the command of her noble birth for the first time. He paused for a moment, struggling with his anger and then swept from the terrace.

Christine turned away from the music and the lights of the ballroom, her hands shaking as she rested them on the railing of the terrace as she tried to regain control of herself. She turned suddenly hearing the sound of someone approaching. Her breath caught as she saw Aramis walking towards her.

"Aramis," she breathed. "I need to speak with you."

"I'm sorry Comtesse, but we need to end this," he said, ignoring her words.

She halted in her steps feeling as though she too had just been slapped.

"Wh-What?" she stammered.

"It's all been a fairytale," he said, "We were deluding ourselves if we thought that this could ever work."

"Aramis, stop," she said.

"What are you doing with me? It's wrong and cruel for me to continue this silly romance," he said, his voice breaking as the words poured out.

"You don't mean that," she whispered.

He shook his head. "We were fools. You need to marry someone who can provide for you, who can support you and help you tend to your people. I can give you nothing. I'm not worthy of you," he said.

"But I need nothing," she cried grabbing onto his arm. "Just you!"

He shook his head again. He could not look at her. "Think of your people," he said. The words struck like daggers and she sank to the ground. Behind him, Porthos and Athos had entered the terrace. They stood frozen as they witnessed the devastation before them.

"I am unworthy of your love; the King would never approve of my suit. It's better that we end this now so you can find a proper match. Someone with a title and family, whose lands can enrich your own."

"You don't mean that," she said, her voice barely registering. The tears that had been falling freely seemed to dry up all at once. She had none left to cry as her heart shattered into dust.

"I'm sorry. This is the only way. Goodbye Comtesse," he said and he turned away from her. He came face to face with Athos who had leapt forward to stop him, but as he looked at the marksman he stopped. It was like looking at a corpse. Pain, and what looked like a yearning for death had taken over the man. Athos saw a flash of his former self from when he lost Thomas; he could do nothing. He let Aramis leave.

Porthos had walked over to Christine who was still sitting amid her skirts on the terrace floor. He gently lifted her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her puling her tight into his chest. He was at a loss for words. Everything about what he had witnessed was so wrong, and when he had looked into his brother's face he could practically see the man's heart disintegrating. He stroked her hair, lost for words of comfort.

"Porthos," she whispered hoarsely, "take me home."

oOo

Aramis walked blindly from the terrace, desperate for the palace doors and a bottle of wine. His chest felt as though it had been split wide open and hollowed out, the gaping hole where his heart had been now raged with a vengeful fire.

He didn't mean a word of what he said, and yet he had to say it. He had to practically kill her, kill himself, if he was going to be able to give her the life she deserved.

Because that's what it kept coming back to.

What could he, a simple musketeer, ever offer the Comtesse des Etoiles? It had been so clear for so long, he had finally accepted it.

A woman's cold laugh stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh, Aramis!" Valentina crowed, "Off so soon? Have you seen the Comtesse? I heard that she looked quite lovely tonight," she said scathingly.

He grabbed her arm and squeezed it tight. Her eyes burned wickedly and she smiled at his desperate passion.

"Why?" he hissed. "Why do you do this?"

"Because," she said, her eyes sparkling with maleficence as she saw Porthos and Christine enter the hallway. "Because it's fun," she said, stepping close and whispering into his ear.

All Aramis heard was a gasp from behind him. He turned to see his brother, eyes murderous, glaring at him, as he carried Aramis' love away from him and out of his life.

It was over. He had lost her. He knew what the scene would have looked like as Christine came around the corner: Aramis and Valentina, alone on the landing, his hand clutching her wrist as she leaned close to him. He stifled a wail as he placed that final nail in his coffin. He had lost her. He had ended their love. Hopefully now she would find someone who could save her.

oOo


	25. What Love Is Worth, Ch 6

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 6**

Two days passed in agony as preparations were made for Christine to leave the city. She had always intended to return to her estate to assist with the spring harvest – these circumstances just spurred her into earlier action. She had to get out of the city where every brick and paving stone reminded her of him.

Marcello stood in the foyer as she oversaw the final preparations for her journey.

"I must apologize again," he said as he looked at her. "I do not regret my actions or my words, but I regret that they hurt you," he said and she stopped. He took her by the elbow and made her face him.

"Please," he begged. "Don't do this."

She said nothing, but looked at him with dead eyes – eyes that once brimmed with only life and laughter. He had done this to her, had been part of his sister's cruel games. He barely recognized the wraith that stood before him. It was as though her fire had been extinguished.

"Don't do this," he repeated.

She smiled sadly. "I need to leave the city," she said softly.

"So then we'll leave!" he said. "We can go far from this place. We can go to Italy – to Florence! You can listen to opera and we can study the works of the masters," he said desperately. She smiled again and shook her head, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"Marry me!" he said suddenly. "Marry me, and I will take you away from here. Your people will be taken care of and you would never need to hear of him again. France could be a faint memory. He could be a memory."

She stilled at this, another tear sliding down her cheek. Christine was certain this had to be the last one. How many tears could one woman cry?

"I can't," she said, her voice barely discernible. "I love him," she said.

His mouth fell open and his eyes burned with rage. "Still?" he asked incredulously, "After all he's done to you?" He was shouting now. Even the stable boys could hear him as they backed the horses into position in front of the carriage.

"You can't! You just don't know!" he shouted, "Marry me and you should want for nothing," he said as he desperately pressed his lips to hers and he kissed her hard. She stood still, like a corpse, as more tears miraculously continued to fall from her eyes.

He pulled away, his eyes wild.

"I'm sorry," she said and she turned away, leaving him in the hallway.

He spun on his heel and stormed out the door knocking parcels aside as he went.

oOo

"Where is he?!" Marcello shouted as he burst through the garrison gates. "Where is that bastard…that coward?! ARAMIS!" he screamed.

From the shadows Aramis shifted in his chair, a waif, not even resembling the gregarious musketeer he was normally. A bottle of wine lay empty under his seat.

Marcello surged towards him but was stopped suddenly by Athos blocking his way, his outstretched hand pressed against the Duke's chest.

"Out of my way!" he demanded. "I've come here to kill him!"

"Calm down," said Athos. "I suggest you take a breath and leave this place. You don't want to do something you might regret." Porthos and D'Artagnan rose from their seats and flanked Athos. Aramis was still visible from where he lurked in the shadows, his dark eyes, the only sign of life, smoldered with a desire for violence.

"You're a disgrace," he shouted at the marksman. "You all are! You are supposed to be the protectors of the innocent, the defenders of women, and here you keep a murderer among you."

"Nobody is dead," said Porthos coldly.

"She's as good as dead," he hissed back, fury dominating his emotions. "He has nearly killed her. He has stolen her life force and left her broken. You musketeers and all your talk of honour! Where is the honour in that? You're a coward," he shouted again at Aramis. "You truly didn't deserve her if you let the evil cackles of a few courtiers destroy everything you had, and she is EVERYTHING. You never loved her," he finished savagely.

Aramis surged to his feet and flung himself desperately towards the Italian at these words. Porthos and D'Artagnan grabbed him, and desperately tried to retain the marksman.

"Get out of here!" Athos shouted pushing the Duke back towards the gates.

The Duke spat at Athos' feet. "You musketeers have no honour," he snarled and left.

Aramis pulled himself out of the grips of Porthos and D'Artagnan. Grabbing the empty wine bottle from the floor he hurled it so it smashed against the infirmary's exterior wall. He staggered away, grabbing another bottle of wine off the table as he went.

oOo

It had been two weeks since she had left the city. Two weeks of agony as every night his words and her face haunted him. He went about his days in a drunken haze.

Much of what the Italian had said had been true, Porthos thought. With his words, Aramis had killed two people – the Comtesse and himself. This wraith that haunted the infirmary was not the man that Porthos called brother. He did not know the dead eyes that stared back at him.

He had had enough. He needed to put an end to this, to shake his brother back into being and spur him into action before the poison could no longer be extracted from the wound. Porthos turned to face the marksman with a roar that died before it could leave his lips as Athos suddenly burst into the infirmary.

"Finish this!" he said flinging a pistol across the table at Aramis. D'Artagnan slowly entered behind his mentor and stood in the corner. Porthos gripped the edge of the table. Aramis stared dumbstruck at the pistol.

"Finish this!" roared Athos, drawing his rapier. "I swore that I would kill you if you ever hurt her, but it's clear that your actions have sucked the life from you already, so for the love of god, just end this!"

Aramis said nothing as the words of his brother filtered in.

"I have known you to be many things Aramis, but I do not know you as this. Perhaps Marcello was right and you are a coward – that you didn't love her." Aramis' eyes burst into flame at these words. He roared and surged to his feet tossing the table and the pistol aside.

"How dare you," Aramis growled. "You, of all people. You knew how much I loved her, how much I still do!"

"And I know how it killed you to say those things to her! What I don't understand is why!" Athos shouted, blazing blue eyes locking onto burning brown. "I saw you when it happened. I saw you as you turned away. I went to stop you, but it was like looking into the face of a dead man. The face I see before me now! If you love her as I know you still do, then tell me, please brother, why did you do it?"

Aramis stood there shaking, then all at once he let out a sob, the most heartbreaking sound that any of them had ever heard as all the pain and loss that he had kept locked within the gaping hole where his heart once dwelt burst forth in that inarticulate cry. He sank back into the chair and dropped his head. He ran his hands through his hair where they grasped at its ends at the back of his neck.

"I don't know," he stuttered, as Athos knelt in front of him. "I feel as though I was poisoned. I listened to the whispers of that viper that told me I was worthless. She preyed on every fear and doubt I had. She convinced me that if I loved her, I had to let her go. Christine had to marry a nobleman, one who could support her and enrich her lands with those of his own. I grew jealous and felt doubt where before I only felt certainty." His body shook with silent sobs. "She would be throwing her life away with me, Athos. She needs to think of her people. I'm not worthy of her love. I can offer her nothing."

The infirmary echoed in the silence that followed these statements.

Athos' heart broke at hearing the words of his brother.

"Have you lost your mind?" Athos asked. Aramis raised his head, startled. Porthos and D'Artagnan both gasped at the question. Whatever they had been expecting, it was not that.

"Can you hear yourself? Do you not know who you are, what you are, who she is?"

Aramis' eyes widened as Athos gripped his arm.

"I have known Christine since we were both babes. She has never changed. Christine is guided by her heart, Aramis, and in her heart there is only you! By her choosing you, you are deserving of her. Do you think she's a fool?" he asked

"NO!" protested Aramis. "She is the most intelligent and beautiful creature that God has ever created."

"Then do you think she would have pledged her heart to you if you were unworthy of it? So you have no title. You know as well as I do that titles and court life are abhorrent to her. She does not care what the people of the court say and if you asked her to, I know she would relinquish it all for you."

"But Athos, her lands…her people," Aramis said with a desolation and uncertainty which were rarely seen in the marksman.

"She doesn't need you to support her with lands. All she needed from you was your love," Athos said. "She LOVES you Aramis. And through her love, she has marked you as her equal and no courtly opinion has greater value than that. That is what her love is worth."

Silence again reigned.

Slowly Aramis raised his head. "I've been such a fool," he muttered softly.

His eyes shone brightly for the first time in weeks and finally, Porthos once again saw a trace of his brother. The fire had returned to his eyes, strong and determined. Rising, he pulled Athos to his feet and gripped him in a tight embrace. Without a word he strode from the infirmary and into the stables. He was shocked to see his mare tacked and his saddlebags waiting.

"I had a feeling you'd listen to Athos," D'Artagnan said.

"He's quite persuasive with a pistol and a rapier," Aramis said with a slight smirk.

"Thank you brothers," he said with a nod to his brothers as he swung into his stirrups and took off out of the stable doors.

oOo


	26. What Love Is Worth, Ch 7

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 7**

It was nearly a four-hour ride to where Christine's estate was. Aramis rode hard, stopping only so his poor horse could rest. When he pulled into the small village she was sweaty, but proud as ever. He patted her as he slowly made his way through the village. Around him, happy villagers greeted him and each other, children pointing in awe at the sight of the armed musketeer and the beautiful horse he rode.

In the distance he could see a short bridge that led over a gently flowing river that emptied into a small lake nestled in front of a grand but not ostentatious manor. He could see farmers working their fields and heard the loud boisterous laughter that echoed from both the mill and the inn.

And then he saw her. She had exited a shop carrying a small basket; a navy cloak was pulled over her shoulders. The wind picked up her hair as she entered the street and she hastily tucked the straying strands behind her ear.

He saw her and his heart leapt, though he couldn't make out her expression. She turned, saw him and froze.

"Dear lord, help me," he prayed as she briskly tried to make her escape towards the bridge. He spurred his horse.

"Christine," he called as he dismounted without stopping, desperately trying to catch her.

She froze just before the bridge as he skidded to a halt behind her. She turned to face him, the wind blowing back her cloak. "Aramis," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I…I…I don't know," he stammered.

Her eyes scorched him where he stood and she turned away.

"No, wait!" he called and grabbing her hand, he pulled her towards him and kissed her.

She pushed him away and slapped him. Hard.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, her voice carrying a mix of emotions as she spun away from him again.

"Christine, wait, please. Let me explain!" She continued to march across the bridge.

"Christine," he said as he darted in front of her to block her way. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his heart. "Christine, you need to listen to me. I'm a monster and a fool. I know I hurt you - that I let fear and doubt take over everything I hold dear, but I'm in love with you Christine. I am. I love you," he blurted out, panting and desperate.

"Please Christine, you need to believe me. I've been a dead man since that night. I could not breathe without you." Her grey eyes held back thunderstorms as they filled with water.

"I have made the biggest mistake I will ever make by hurting you, but you need to believe me when I say I did it because I loved you. I thought that if you didn't love me, you would be free to marry someone who was more worthy of you, someone who could offer you all that you needed. I thought I was saving you from a lifetime of misery. I was wrong, Christine, no man has ever been more wrong. It took losing you, it took not wanting to live any more, for me to fully realize all that I had had," he was rambling now, desperate to get all the words out. He needed her to understand. She had to!

"What I had was you Christine. Your love. With that I was the richest, most fortunate man alive. I had you and your fire and your kiss. Your love made me important. It made me special. It made me…whole. Without you I have been a broken man. My brothers did not know me – I didn't know myself." He struggled to breathe as the words continued to pour forth.

"I've come here…" he began again. "I've come here…to try to earn you back. To prove to you that I love you, to show you how sorry I am, and how I would sacrifice everything just to be able to hold you in my arms once more."

There was silence as she stared at him. She was trembling now. Angrily she brushed a single tear from her eye.

"Please Christine," he said, kneeling before her with tears welling in his own eyes, her hand still pressed to his breast. "Let me prove it to you. Let me stay with you and earn back your love. Please Christine, if you loved me the way that I still love you, it can't have died so quickly. Let me be worthy of your love again."

She stared at him where he knelt, the wind rustling his hair. She looked into the big, pleading dark eyes and at his lower lip that she knew he was fighting to keep still. She wanted to say no. She wanted to cast him away and to continue to fortify the walls she had struggled to build around her heart, but as he knelt, staring up at her like that, she could already feel their foundation shift. She nodded slowly.

His eyes burst into life as his lips parted in an elated grin.

"Get up," she pleaded, aware of the few villagers that had stood back respectfully but still lingered to watch the show. He rose and ran to grab his mare. Together they slowly crossed the bridge.

"We need to set some rules," she said as they walked across the bridge. "Every year my family hosts a ball for the villagers to celebrate the end of the spring planting season. It's in two weeks' time. You are here just in time to help the villagers prepare the fields for this year's harvest. This is the first year since my father has passed that I will be hosting it. I have invited Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan to attend as my guests. I will make my decision then," she said sternly.

"Agreed," he replied. "In the interim, I will do everything in my power to prove how much I love you, to show you that our love is worth fighting for. If at the end of these two weeks I have not been able to reverse the damage I have wrought, I swear to you, that you will never see me again."

She worried her lip a little, but nodded.

"However," Aramis continued, "In the process of winning your heart, you must allow me five kisses," he said catching her eye and grinning.

"Two," she replied.

"Four," he countered.

"Fine then, but you've already used one."

"Agreed," he said triumphantly. They walked on in silence, as he beamed, and she fought her smile. "You know," he said softly, "I would have been grateful for one," he said as he winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

She turned her head slightly to keep from laughing. He smiled more broadly, because despite everything, when he had kissed her desperately by the bridge, he was almost certain that, for a moment, she had kissed him back…

oOo

"It's beautiful here," said Aramis looking around as they circled the small lake and climbed the hill that led to the house.

"Thank you," said Christine softly. "It took leaving for all of those years for me to really appreciate that. The land has been in my family's name for centuries. There are 50 families that reside in the village now. They're mostly farmers, though the village is well known for the quality of our woven fabrics," she said.

Aramis drew in a breath as they approached the manor. "This is quite the home," he said. A dense wood sat near the edge of the lake. Aramis could see orchards in the distance, their branches just beginning to be dotted with buds. "How many people do you have as part of your staff?" he asked her.

"About 14 in all if you include the children," she said, "They're really more like family though, as they've been with my family for generations. We're a little bit of a different noble household," she said, as two children ran from the house in their direction. "Our family is thought quite odd in most noble circles. We have always worked the fields and shared in the labour along with our tenants," she said. "I think that's why Athos spent so much time here as a child. My father actually permitted him to DO things. My father always said it's impossible to govern a people when you're not seen to be a part of or invested in their wellbeing."

"Your father sounds like a wise man. I'm sorry that I never got to meet him," he said softly.

"Thank you," she said. "He would have liked you."

The children, who were about six, reached them then, panting and shrieking with laughter.

"Mistress! Christine!" called the young girl bounding forward, hair flying wildly about her shoulders. The boy held back a little shyly upon seeing the soldier. "Who's this?" she demanded, her eyes growing wide as she stopped in front of them. Aramis grinned.

"Claudine, Thomas, this is Aramis. He will be joining us for the harvest – until the Spring Ball," she said rather awkwardly.

"He's very handsome," Claudine responded bluntly at which Christine blushed slightly and rolled her eyes. Aramis laughed and removing his hat, he bowed to the girl.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, to which she responded with a giggle and a clumsy curtsey. "You as well, Master Thomas," he said.

The boy appraised the marksman, then stepped in front of Christine in a defensive stance. "You're a soldier?" he asked glaring at the man. Christine crouched down beside him and whispered into his ear: "He's a musketeer."

The children's eyes widened as they looked at the man. Aramis winked at them and then caught Christine's eye and beamed. She blushed slightly, and it was just like that first day in Paris. His heart leapt to his throat and he struggled to swallow.

"Thomas," she said, turning the boy to face her and breaking his glare at Aramis – the boy might be a tough nut to crack, Aramis thought – "Can you run back to the house and ask Katherine to prepare my father's room off of the study for our guest? Then you can go to the kitchen to ask Cookie for a treat. Tell her I said it was okay," she said with a grin.

He nodded eagerly and puffed out his chest.

Claudine grabbed his wrist and began dragging him away. "Come on!" she cried and they took off for the house laughing.

Aramis chuckled at the sounds of their laughter. Christine beamed after them, laughing too.

"They remind me of Athos and I as children," she said with a grin. "Athos was older, mind you, but I was just as bossy."

Aramis laughed at her comment. "I can definitely see some similarities. I think Thomas' glare may rival Athos' actually."

They neared the stable laughing, hers sounding like bells to the medic. Marcus and Victor approached from the stable doors.

"I'll show you around the house once you have your horse settled," she said. Aramis smiled at her again and she fought against returning it.

"Hello boys!" said Aramis excitedly recognizing the stable hands. "How've you been?"

Marcus looked at Victor who said nothing, but stared stonily at the musketeer.

"We've been okay. It's nice here. I like it," Marcus said brightly. Victor coldly took the reins from Aramis and left to tend to the animal. Aramis looked after him, confused.

"Don't mind him," Marcus muttered. "He's mad at you because he's in love with the Comtesse," the younger boy grinned. Aramis' eyes softened as he looked after the 13-year-old, understanding.

"I'm glad you're here though," said Marcus smiling. "She's been sad for a while now. She always smiles more when you're around."

oOo

Inside her home, Christine leant against the doorframe for a moment. "Get a hold of yourself," she scolded.

"No, give in!" her heart countered.

Aramis was right; she had a responsibility to her people. She couldn't afford to get lost in her emotions again. The next two weeks would be difficult, but she would let him go at the end, she promised herself.

oOo


	27. What Love Is Worth, Ch 8

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 8**

Christine showed Aramis around her home and introduced him to the members of the staff including Thomas' father John, the groundskeeper, and Cladine's mother Celine, the laundress.

"Through there is the west wing," she said, pausing at the top of the large staircase they had just climbed. "I never go in there anymore. That's where my parents' room was..." she said sadly as they moved away. They entered a large study lined with bookshelves. A table and chairs were placed by a large window, a couch and a comfortable looking chair stood by the large hearth where a fire crackled. The window faced east where Aramis could make out the structure of the stables in the distance. A heavy desk stood against the wall. A door on the left of the room was slightly ajar, the foot of a bed just visible. The door on the right was closed, and Christine made her way towards it.

"When we returned here, my father took up residence in this room here so we could spend what little time he had left together. I hope it's to your liking," she said as she opened the door.

Aramis gazed into the room. Like everything else about this home, and much like Christine herself, the items were simple in taste, but exceptionally made and of the highest quality. This was apparent from the thick carpet on the floor, the rich mahogany chair by the fireplace, and the heavy duvet that lay across the bed.

"Thank you," Aramis said. "It's perfect," he said taking her hand and staring into her troubled grey eyes.

"Thank you," he repeated. She bit her lip and dropping his gaze and hand, she made her way back across the study toward the door on the left.

"I can have some food sent up for you. You must be hungry. It's a long ride from Paris," she said, "I often take my meals with the staff in the kitchens."

"That would be fantastic, thank you," he replied. She stood against the doorframe as he looked at her.

"I think I will retire for the evening," she said, though it was barely 4:00.

Aramis looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You never showed me where you'd be sleeping…" he said teasing warily.

Her eyes flashed as she smirked. "I will be sleeping alone," she said as she stepped backwards into her room and closed the door on him with a snap.

oOo

She rose early and was restless. She had been unable to sleep for much of the night as she thought about the man who was sleeping on the other side of the study. She pushed away the thoughts of his deep, dark eyes or the feeling of his lips when he had kissed her yesterday and prepared herself for the day, inwardly cursing at his proximity. Why hadn't she housed him in the West Wing?

Exiting her chamber she halted, nearly treading on something that lay just outside her door. She stooped and picked up the wildflower bud, just starting to open. She looked at it thoughtfully then put it aside.

"Good morning, Cookie," she said entering the kitchen, picking up a basket. "Shall I fetch you some eggs?"

The cook looked at her and grinned. "No need,' she said, her grin growing larger. "Your gentleman friend, Aramis, you know, the handsome one? He already fetched 'em this morning. Water too. And he slopped the pigs!" she said.

"Did he mention that he was handsome?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"No, but I have eyes…and he did ask a lot about you," she replied with a wink.

Christine rolled her eyes again.

"Don't you be rolling your eyes at me, missy," she scolded with a laugh as she lay a plate of food before the Comtesse.

oOo

Christine went about her tasks that morning, aware of Aramis' absence, but too stubborn to ask where he had went.

It was approaching mid-afternoon when she set off for the fields with a basket of sandwiches and a large flagon of water for the workers.

She was surprised to see the men leaning on the fence chatting happily as Aramis dressed in his shirtsleeves laughed with another young man as they worked to mend the fence. She approached them warily, her eyebrow arched suspiciously. The older farmers grinned at her as she approached.

"G'day m'lady," one man said to her as she neared.

"Hello Charles, how is everything…I see you've met Aramis. Glad you've put him to work," she said with a grin.

Charles chuckled. "Helpful he is. Surprising for a city boy."

Aramis stood, his eyes bright with a wide smile on his face. "I'm actually quite used to this," he said. "I worked on my father's land as a young man. And I've gotten myself into trouble enough times to have grown accustomed to backbreaking labour. There are a lot of stable stalls in the garrison," he said with a grin to which the men laughed.

Christine smiled. "I bring gifts," she said and passed the basket to Charles. As the men divided the food amongst them, she wandered along the fence inspecting the handiwork. Aramis walked at her side.

"I'll admit," she said, "I'm surprised to see you working a field."

Aramis grinned. "Mending and labour I'm used to. I've never ploughed a field in my life, but I've been told I'll be taught," he said with a soft chuckle.

"Good," she said, catching his eye with challenge and mischief and mirth in hers. "If we are to be putting you up for two weeks, you should at least earn your keep. Maybe you can prove to the others that you're more than just a silver tongue and a pretty face," she said as she walked back to join the others, leaving Aramis chuckling to himself.

oOo

Aramis proved himself to be quite helpful over the next few days, something that the townspeople were quick to comment on. Each morning Christine found a new bud lying at her bedroom door. Marie had begun collecting them in a small vase.

Their days were spent among the villagers, their nights gathered around the large table in the kitchen with the staff, where Aramis and Christine took turns telling tales. Aramis helped repair the axel of a cart that was hauling seed to the field. He helped remove the bell from the church tower, which was due to be replaced and he tended to and splinted the arm of a lad who took a nasty fall from a tree.

Christine laughed along with the others who had gathered to watch Aramis learn to plough, the large workhorse pulling him off his feet at one point. He lay stunned in the dirt for a moment, laughing along with the others as several worn and calloused hands reached down to help him up and dust him off. She smiled at him and handed him her glass of water to drink from and their fingers touched and lingered in the exchange. He looked into her eyes as he took a drink and was thrilled to see the warmth that resided there.

She took him through the market and introduced him to the apothecary and showed him her own extensive herb garden where she cultivated the ones that she used in her salves and poultices. They took walks through the orchards, a few trees just beginning to bloom, and rode through the dense woods. When it rained, they stayed in the study, choosing books at random and reading aloud to each other. Aramis read her passages from his bible, and Christine shared some of her favourite verses with him. Sometimes in the evenings they simply sat in silence and read, secretly relishing in the comfort of each other's company.

Aramis could not yet express the elation he felt to be reunited with her, to speak and to laugh with her once more. He desperately longed to take her in his arms, but he restrained himself knowing that he was only entitled to three kisses – and they needed to count!

For Christine, her life was in conflict. She too felt the warm familiarity and comfort that only Aramis had ever brought to her life settle in and around her shoulders once more. She could not admit how much she had missed him, or how happy she was to see him each morning, and dine with him each night. It would have been so easy to fall back in love with him and pretend like the weeks before had never happened…but when she lay alone in bed at night, that voice at the back of her mind repeated the words "Are you sure?"

oOo


	28. What Love Is Worth, Ch 9

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 9**

Each day passed like a lifetime, and Aramis relished every second of it.

It was a particularly hot day as Christine and Aramis were returning to the manor from across the field. They rested at the top of the bridge, the warm sun beating down upon them. Aramis shirt clung to his back. It had been a hard day as they finished turning the fields in preparation to plant. Christine gathered her hair in her hand and piled it on top of her head. Aramis watched as a single bead of sweat made its way down her neck and disappeared beneath her dress.

He had to touch her. He reached out his hand and gently massaged her exposed neck and shoulders. He felt her tension ease away beneath his fingertips. She turned and he lowered his hand to her hip. She took a step closer to him, her eyes bright. She leant in…

…and pushed!

Startled, he tumbled backwards off the bridge into the lake below. He emerged spluttering to the sound of her laughter. He grinned up at her as she stood on the ledge of the bridge and gasped as she dove headlong in after him. She broke the water's surface and beamed at him. They tread water and looked at each other and slowly and subconsciously drew closer. Aramis feet found the lakebed as he pulled her towards him. They floated there with him holding her in perfect bliss for a moment, barely remembering to breathe. He brushed her wet hair from her shoulder.

And suddenly they were interrupted by the shrieks and laughter of little voices as Claudine and Thomas spotted them and began splashing the couple from the water's edge. An all-out water-war broke out as the adults and children shrieked and laughed, and splashed water about in the sunlight.

The children ran ahead as they neared the home. Marcel greeted them smiling as he led Peg to the blacksmith in the village to be reshod.

"Catch any mermaids today, mistress?" the old man asked as the soggy comtesse and musketeer drew near grinning.

"Almost," she responded and kissed the old man on the cheek. He grinned as she continued to the house, winking at Aramis as he passed.

They traipsed their way through the house, whispering apologetically to the maid who glared at the water droplets with her mop. Entering her room, Christine pinned her soggy hair to the top of her head, one or two long tendrils falling free. She pressed a towel to her neck and chest as she pulled her bodice's straps from her shoulders. Aramis was struck still in the study.

He couldn't move – He couldn't help it, as his hungry eyes roved over her damp shoulders and down her neck. He craved her touch, to tear that bodice off her and to make love to her right then. Looking up she caught his eyes. There was a strong sense of déjà vu as they stood there dripping. She looked at him from her doorway where he stood frozen, and looking away, she firmly closed the door.

oOo

Dinner that evening was an excited affair. The ewes were due to start dropping their lambs soon, and the whole house was restless with expectation. Aramis and Christine were walking back towards their study chatting teasingly when they were called out to by John.

"The birthing has begun," he said grinning.

"Excellent!" she exclaimed. "Come on!" she said, braiding her fingers through Aramis' and leading him to the barn behind John.

The pregnant ewes had been gathered in a large pen. The smell of the fresh straw gave off a rich earthy scent when mixed with the evening's humidity. Feathers and stray blades of grass floated down from the hayloft.

"There," said Christine pointing as she leaned over the railing, as the soft bleating of the first lamb could be heard. John stepped into the pen patting the mother who nuzzled and cleaned her baby. Taking the lamb in a soft wool blanket, he passed it to Christine who cuddled it to her chest. She laughed as the baby nuzzled against her neck.

"A boy," said John.

"Primus," she named him, passing the baby back. John smiled as he returned the lamb to its mother where it began to nurse immediately.

"Ok boys," he called to the farmhands assembled. "A male, Primus," he announced.

"Another male, Secondus," called a young lad from across the pen.

"Twins! Girls! Tertia and Quarta," called a third, younger voice excitedly.

Aramis laughed. "Latin?" he asked.

"It was my father's idea," she said with a laugh of her own. "He wanted to encourage and educate our staff. Last year was Greek, but there's also been generals, nation's capitals, and Greek gods and heroes. That bad tempered male, is called Aries," she said pointing to a large male who munched angrily away in his stall. "You may want to avoid his bad side," she whispered to him as they left the barn and returned to the house.

They had almost reached their suite when Aramis stopped her suddenly. He had been quiet as they walked back and Christine looked at him with concern as his hand cupped her elbow. His eyes were soft as he looked into hers.

"I want to thank you for sharing all this with me, your life here. It's beautiful," he said softly and earnestly. "I feel as though I'm at home here. I've only ever felt that way with my mother, at the garrison…and with you," he said.

She smiled at him warmly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. She noticed that a stray feather from the barn had caught in his hair.

"Make a wish," she said as she reached forward to pluck the feather from his hair.

He reached up and caught her wrist. She slowly lowered her arm, the feather in her fingers, as his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. He stepped towards her and she didn't pull away. She stared up into his shining brown eyes. He lifted his free hand to her neck and entwined his fingers into her hair. He stared into the galaxy of her eyes and he kissed her. He felt her body shudder as she leaned into the kiss, their bodies pressed tightly. An eternity passed in that kiss.

A giggle from the end of the hall had the pair pull away. Marie pulled the younger maid away as they hastily swept passed, Marie looking crossly at the younger girl as she giggled.

Christine quietly slipped away; she was gone when Aramis looked back from the retreating maids. He continued to the study where Christine's door was closed, the shadows of her pacing feet were just visible in the space beneath it.

oOo

It rained the next day. Aramis joined Marcel and the boys as they repaired the tack for the horses. Victor had warmed up to Aramis once more and the two young boys compared the differences and their preferences between their lives in the country and their lives on St. Germain in Paris.

Christine was reclined on the couch by the fire when Aramis returned to the room just after noon. The Ball was in a few days and she had been busy ensuring everything was prepared. He smiled as he saw her sleeping and gently lifted her into his arms. She curled tighter into his chest like she always used to. He lowered his head and breathed deeply. He laid her on her bed and quietly closed the door, leaving with the heavenly scent of mint and lavender fresh in his mind.

oOo


	29. What Love Is Worth, Ch 10

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 10**

The Ball was two days away. Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan would be arriving the next day. Christine's mind was in turmoil.

Being with Aramis was as natural as breathing and was better than even the best Christmas morning. She wanted to end the charade and give in to what her heart demanded of her, what it knew to be true…

…but again that voice – that scared voice – reminded her of the duty she owed her people.

She entered the kitchen where her staff – her family – sat with Aramis. John smoked his pipe as his men cleaned their bowls with hunks of fresh bread. Marie and some of the other maids sat darning. Claudine and Thomas were stretched on the floor by the fire, Thomas petting a very content cat named Hugo. She smiled warmly at them all, shaking her head when Cookie gestured to a bowl of food. She wasn't hungry.

Her eyes kept straying to the happy face of the marksman as he spoke to John.

"Aramis," called Claudine as she rose and settled herself in the lap of her mother, "Can you tell us a story?" This got the attention of all the occupants of the room.

With a soft chuckle Aramis grinned at his audience. "Have I told you the one about the Princess and the Trolls?" he said, looking pointedly at Christine.

Claudine, Thomas and Marcus shook their heads. Everyone else smiled and leaned closer.

"Once upon a time, there was a very handsome knight," he said and grinned at Christine before focusing on his audience. "This knight was brave and had a real love for adventure, riding across the lands to vanquish monsters and slay dragons with his brother knights. On the other side of the country lived the most beautiful princess in all the world. But she was more than just beautiful," Aramis said, as he looked again at Christine. "She was brave and clever but more than that, she was kind. She had the biggest heart of any person who dwelt in the land. One day, as the knight was wandering alone on his travels, admiring the beauty of the woods, he was suddenly set upon by two hideous trolls!"

Claudine gasped; Marcus and Thomas grinned.

"The trolls captured the knight and tied him to a tree and immediately began debating as to how they would eat him. 'Let's boil him in a stew!' said one. 'No,' insisted the other, 'Knights are best roasted on a spit!'" he said, as more and more of the adults grinned as they too fell under the spell of the marksman.

"The two trolls continued to bicker so loudly that the brave and beautiful princess was drawn to the ruckus. 'What on earth is going on here?' she scolded grasping each troll by the ear. 'How dare you capture this poor knight. And you are to eat him? There's hardly enough meat on the man to feed you both! Shame on you!' she cried." Cookie chuckled softly.

"'We're just so hungry!' cried the trolls as they rubbed at their sore ears and empty bellies. 'Well," said the princess, 'If you will let this knight go, I will teach you how to make the greatest chocolate cake in the land!' she declared. The troll brothers looked at each other, then, scratching their heads, as trolls are want to do when deep in thought, they nodded. They cut free the knight and the princess gave them her secret recipe for chocolate cake. The trolls got to work and soon, they were such good bakers that people came from far and wide to sample their wares. They quickly grew very rich and were so overjoyed that they decided to share their wealth with all the poor they could find in the land, ensuring that no one would ever go hungry again. They were such good trolls and their deeds and their cake was so good that, as if by magic, they were trolls no longer! They had somehow both turned into handsome men! For you see," Aramis paused dramatically to emphasize the moral of his story, "True beauty lies in good deeds and helping others, and even a troll can be beautiful if his heart is good. The silly, but still very handsome knight was so amazed by the goodness of the beautiful princess that he fell in love with her immediately when she had saved him, and spent the rest of his life as her most dedicated servant," he finished.

The crowd clapped their appreciation as Aramis grinned about the room.

"But what of the princess?" Thomas asked, "Did she love the knight as well?"

Aramis paused and said sadly, "I don't know Thomas. That may need to be a story for another day."

The children groaned as their parents and Marcel stood and ushered them off to bed, and Christine slipped out the kitchen door.

oOo

Aramis had seen her slip out as his story ended. He found her in the gardens sitting at a bench and looking up at the star-filled sky.

"Christine?" he called to her quietly.

"Sorry," she said rising and turning to face him. The torches had been lit in the garden and her face glowed in their light. "My mother always told me that should I ever need her, I should whisper to the stars and she would hear me," she said.

Aramis smiled, "My mother used to tell me something similar," he said sincerely.

She smiled at him in the cool night air.

"I liked your fairytale," she said to him softly.

"It was all true," Aramis protested as he smiled broadly at her.

"I am no princess," she laughed.

"No," he said thoughtfully, "But in my eyes, you are the best and most beautiful creature ever made and I have been in love with you since that day you saved me in the marketplace," he said, as he pulled her chilled hands to his chest, "And I swear to you, that I will love you and only you until long after this life has left me," he said, staring deeply into her opal eyes.

"Aramis," she whispered, "Will you let me do something?"

"Anything," he muttered as her body pressed against his. "I am yours completely."

She cautiously lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He dared not breathe.

Staring into the dark eyes that sparkled like ebony in the dim light, she pulled him close and kissed him, softly. Then she kissed him again. Her hand grasped his collar and she pulled him closer as they kissed each other in the herb garden, giving in to their desire under the starlight.

oOo

He greeted her with a smile from the stables as she dismounted her horse the next day.

Marcel had taken the boys for a hack through the woods to exercise the other horses. Aramis led Pegasus into his stall as Christine brushed the stallion's neck.

"Is everything prepared?" he asked her as he removed the saddle from the horse's back.

"Just about," she said. "Just waiting on the arrival of our guests…which should be soon."

Aramis nodded. "About last night," he began.

"Yes," she said, "It seems you are down to your last kiss."

"Actually," said Aramis as he stopped her hand from brushing down her horse, "I believe technically, it was you who kissed me last night," he said with an eyebrow raised and a roguish grin on his face.

She smirked and turning to face him, said, "Very well. I'll take responsibility for my actions yesterday. I wouldn't want you to feel like you wasted a kiss," she said, the challenge in her eyes once more – that look that drove him crazy.

"A kiss from you is never wasted," he said as he reached up to cup her face. As if on cue Pegasus shuffled and knocked the Comtesse off balance so she fell into the medic's chest against the side of the stall. They were caught off guard, breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes.

Aramis couldn't help it – he kissed her passionately, unable to control himself. She met his passion with a fire of her own as she pressed into him against the stall's railing. He kissed her neck and she tangled her fingers in his hair. He turned and lifted her onto the stall railing, covering her neck and chest with his lips as he undid the hooks of her bodice and she whimpered softly.

"Mistress! Mistress! Christine! Aramis!" called two small voices.

Aramis and Christine froze. He hastily lowered her to the ground as she struggled to straighten her bodice.

"Aramis! Christine!" called Claudine as she burst into the stables, Thomas at her heels. "What are you doing? Why are you so flushed?" she asked innocently.

"Ah…there was a spider," lied Aramis.

"Yes," said Christine, "On my bodice."

"Yes," said Aramis, "And I was trying to…chase it off…"

The children looked at them sceptically.

"Why were the two of you bellowing like steers?" Christine asked as she adjusted her dress, changing the subject.

"There are riders on the road!" cried Claudine excitedly.

"Three," said Thomas. "They're already at the bridge."

"Well we should go and greet them," Aramis said as he grinned at Christine, his fire and desire for what had almost happened was as present in her eyes as his. He pushed the kids in front of him and turned to look quickly back at Christine.

"One now. This was definitely worth it," he said before he exited through the door. She blushed deeply and beamed before following him out of the stables.

Aramis walked ahead with Claudine perched on his shoulder and Thomas trotting at his side. He lowered the girl as the children ran towards the manor's main doors where the riders were waiting. Aramis straightened and looked back over his shoulder as Christine followed behind. He held out his hand to her, which she took laughing, her eyes beaming with the love her mind would not allow her to own.

The musketeers at the front doors watched this scene unfold as Aramis wrapped their clasped hands around her so she was pulled into his side. He said something to her that they could not hear and she laughed, leaning in closer to whisper something into his ear, her free hand pressed casually against his chest. Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan all exchanged a look. Could things have worked out? Could the world be the beautiful bright place it was when these two were together?

She pulled away from the medic as they approached the group.

"Welcome to my home, brothers," she said warmly and embraced them all. "Welcome back," she said as she stood with her arms around Athos. "You must be hungry. I'll tell Cookie you've arrived so we can eat once you're settled. Aramis, can you help with the horses?" she said as she bustled inside.

"This way gentlemen," said Aramis with a grin as he turned and made his way back the way he had come.

The three exchanged glances and followed behind their fourth.

Aramis stood quietly as they settled their horses, his eyes straying to the stall rail with elation.

"I would ask you how your stay has been, but I for one am still savouring the quiet of your absence these last two weeks," drawled Athos, startling Aramis from his recollection.

Aramis grinned. "I've missed you too, brother."

"Seriously Aramis," said D'Artagnan, "How are you? You're unrecognizable from the wraith that haunted the infirmary two weeks ago."

"Ya," said Porthos, grinning widely. "Looks like the two of you managed to patch things up perfectly!"

Aramis' smile faltered slightly, "No," he said. "Not quite. She said that she'll give me her answer tomorrow. After the ball."

The group's elation dampened a bit at those words until Athos said, "How has your stay been? Have you enjoyed your time here?"

"This place is magical," Aramis gushed. "The people, the villagers, are all so welcoming. The orchard, the forest, the lake. Honestly brothers, I've only felt at home like this twice before, and the other times were with my mother and with you at the garrison."

"Yes," said Athos. "I remember feeling that way as a child."

Aramis shook his head. "That's not it," Aramis said. "Home isn't a place. It's people. It's her."

Athos smiled at his brother and the marksman returned it.

"Come," he said. "Cookie has been looking forward to you coming back since I arrived here, Athos. She's prepared all your favourite foods. Every one. And as I have been instructed, you should never keep a lady waiting!" he said grinning and led the others towards the house. Athos smiled as he recalled the wise words of Marcel from his own youth and followed.

oOo


	30. What Love Is Worth, Ch 11

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 11**

As the day of the ball finally arrived, the house was a flurry of activity. The florists came in from the town and the butcher's boys arrived carrying sides of venison and pheasant. Cookie ordered the kitchen around like a general in battle.

Christine sat in her chamber in front of a looking glass, her nerves ablaze. Marie lovingly laid her dress on the bed.

"Do you know what you are going to do?" she asked her mistress softly.

"No," said Christine sadly into her reflection. Turning, she faced her friend and confidant. "I'm truly at a loss. My heart and my head have been battling since he arrived here. I don't know what I should be doing."

Marie nodded slowly. "Sometimes, my lady, things happen for a reason. It's clear to anyone that has seen the pair of you, that you love each other. Perhaps what happened in Paris happened for a reason. It took almost losing each other to realize what you had. What you have," the young woman corrected.

"When did you grow so wise?" she asked the girl.

Smiling, Marie said, "Well, some of the things you've taught me were bound to sink in eventually. Now if only you'd listen to your own lessons. The two of you tried not to be together, and yet neither of you can live without the other."

"I wish it were that easy," Christine said sadly.

"Isn't it?" Marie asked seriously as she rested her hands on her mistress's shoulders as they gazed into the looking glass. Christine studied the large and beautiful bouquet that sat in a vase on her boudoir.

"These are beautiful," she said to her friend.

Marie smiled. "They're from Aramis. He found you a different flower every day. Come mistress, let's get you ready."

oOo

Outside on the north pavilion, the four musketeers stood in their shirtsleeves with their swords drawn. Aramis stood in the middle as his brothers attacked from all sides. The farm boys and some of the villagers had stopped to watch as they marched to and from the house on errands for the ball. The other servants watched from windows of the house when they could. Truly, the swordsmanship was a spectacle to behold – it was a side of Aramis that none of them had yet seen. Suddenly the affable, jovial man was imbued with strength, grace and nobility as he and his brothers moved in step in their deadly dance.

Aramis managed to disarm Porthos who withdrew from the battle, defeated. He next faced D'Artagnan.

Aramis feigned a lunge and pulled up at the last moment. D'Artagnan, moving as though to block the lunge, and was caught off-guard by the feint, leaving him exposed. He too bowed out, defeated.

Then it was just Athos and Aramis, facing each other as they had so many times before. They were the most talented swordsmen in the regiment, so even when in Paris, their sparring drew crowds. Here, on this wide field where most of these villagers lived without conflict, let alone without swords, this gentlemanly display was something to marvel at.

Aramis and Athos traded parries and ripostes, swipes and lunges. Athos pushed forward an attack and pushed Aramis backwards, testing him. Aramis countered and changed the momentum driving Athos back up the field with a grin. Aramis went for a killing blow that Athos met with a deadly blow of his own and their blades reverberated echoing across the battlefield.

Grinning, the marksman stepped back, and throwing an arm around Athos, they walked to join the others amid the claps of the onlookers.

Refreshing themselves by the kitchen well, D'Artagnan looked at Aramis and rolling his shoulders he said, "Well, it's good to know you still know how to handle a blade."

Aramis grinned as he drank water from a cup.

"He's right," said Athos, "You nearly won that."

"As did you. Cheers, brother," he said as he raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling in their impish way, as he toasted Athos. "You two, however, need some work."

Porthos growled a laugh, "You wouldn't be saying that if we were practicin' hand-to-hand. Can't risk bruising yer pretty face before tonight's soiree."

Aramis grinned and clapped Porthos on the back.

"In all seriousness," said Athos, "Do you know what you will do tonight?" he asked, as they moved from water onto wine.

"I've played the scene out so many times in my head…but I still don't know. I hurt her Athos, badly. It doesn't matter that I didn't mean what was said and it was only said with the best intentions. Once open and released into the world, it's hard to get those demons back into Pandora's box," he said with a sigh. "Not only did I hurt her, but I hurt her trust and placed doubt where there was once an unquestioning certainty. I have done all I can to demonstrate my love for her and destroy these fears. Does she love me? I think she may still, though until I hear it from her lips, I fear to hope. Will that be enough though? Only God will show."

"We're all rootin' for ya," rumbled Porthos. "Ya can't breathe without each other. In 'er heart, Christine knows it's true. That scene when we arrived here…the two of you…that's real, brother."

Aramis gave him a small smile. "I hope you're right," he said as they all raised their glasses and drained them.

"Come," said Athos wryly, "We should prepare for tonight. We're the honoured guests after all."

oOo

A few hours later and the Ball was set to begin. The musketeers were dressed handsomely in the simple and fine clothes that Christine had prepared for them.

"This nobility garb is a lot better than the nonsense they wear at court," Porthos whispered to D'Artagnan who grinned.

Porthos was dressed in dark breeches and a rich wine red coat. D'artagnan was similarly dressed in a coat of dark green with delicate black embroidery at its cuffs. Athos wore a purple velvet, so dark it looked almost black as it shifted as he moved.

Aramis entered the room looking like a hero from a romance novel. He wore a dark navy to match the sea. Faint silver embroidery was visible on the cuffs and at the lapels. He escorted two women towards his waiting brothers, who for the first time in their lives would have honestly admitted that he was handsome.

"D'Artagnan, you remember Marie? She's agreed to be your partner this evening. She has a brother that she says lives not far from where you grew up," Aramis said grinning. D'Artagnan bowed and grinned as she smiled warmly and curtsied back. They took their positions at the head of the line.

"Porthos, I'd like to introduce you to Marguerite. She's the estate's pastry chef. She made that incredible apple dessert from last night. I explained to her that you were in need of a partner," he said.

The beautiful baker stepped towards the brawler, who bowed clumsily. Smiling, she took his arm. "Is this your first ball?" she asked.

"Only the first one attendin'. M'fraid I'm not much of a dancer. We usually stand guard at these things."

"That's alright, I'm sure we can find other ways to enjoy ourselves," she said smiling at him. He smiled back broadly as they took their position behind D'Artagnan and Marie.

Aramis next stepped towards Athos.

"If you repeat this, I'll deny it, but you clean up nicely," he said to Aramis, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Please, Athos, as if there were any doubt." He looked about the antechamber at the base of the stairs that they were gathered in before asking Athos, "I don't see who you're escorting this evening?"

Suddenly, Claudine bounced excitedly towards them in a pale blue gown.

"Hello Aramis! You look very handsome!" she said brightly.

"That's a beautiful dress Claudine. I'm hoping you'll oblige me with a dance at some point," he said grinning and bowing to the girl.

"I'd like to Aramis, but I'm afraid I'm already engaged," she said with all the airs of an adult. Turning from the marksman to the swordsman she said, "Hello Athos, is that for me?"

Athos smiled and handed her the small white rose he had been holding. Aramis' jaw fell open then burst into the brightest and widest smile imaginable.

Athos grinned back. "For some reason we were under the impression that you already had a partner," he said staring over Aramis' shoulder at the stairs behind him.

Aramis turned and gasped.

At the top of th stairs there stood Christine, in all the true glory of her house. Her dark blue gown was slightly lighter than Aramis' jacket, but complimented his perfectly – the stormy sky to his sea – something that Marie (who had arranged it that way) smiled at and whispered conspiratorially to D'Artagnan. Soft grey gossamer floated delicately at the top of her bodice, which was draped low to expose the top of her lily-white bosom and shoulders. At her throat she wore the symbol of her house – the three stars dangling from their delicate chain. Deep blue sapphires hung from her earlobes, curtained by her thick dark hair, which was pinned back off her face with delicate pins crowned with diamonds and pearls.

She looked like a queen. She looked like a goddess descended to earth. She looked more radiant than Aramis believed possible – a miracle to a man who bore witness to her beauty on a daily basis.

"Just close your mouth, and remember to breathe," Athos whispered in his ear as Aramis gazed star-struck at the divine beauty of the woman he loved. Athos grinned and took his place in line with Claudine.

"Lord have mercy on me," he whispered as Christine glided towards him.

"You look…" Aramis was lost for words. Christine blushed.

"Thank you. So do you," she gushed. He bowed to her and kissed the inside of her wrist. She smiled at him and curtsied back, never breaking his eye contact.

"Are we ready?" asked D'Artagnan with a grin as he saw the pair take their places, both beaming at him.

As he looked at where they stood holding each other, Porthos could have sworn that they sparkled.

D'Artagnan led the way into the grand ballroom where the villagers awaited them and clapped at their arrival. When Aramis and Christine entered the room collectively took a breath before roaring into applause. It seemed like all of France was praying for these lovers.

Dinner was fantastic as course after course of Cookie's exceptional cooking was served among the guests. No meal in Paris had ever rivalled the decadence, delicacy and deliciousness of that cuisine, and when the desserts arrived baring Marguerite's impeccable handiwork, Porthos thought there might be a chance that he too would fall in love that night.

As the final plates were cleared away and the glasses were once again charged, Christine rose from her seat.

"Thank you," she said, "Thank you all so much for attending. The walls of this hall have missed you for all these years, and looking around at all your beautiful, smiling and loved faces, this house finally feels like home again," she said, her eyes catching Aramis'. She smiled broadly. "This night is meant to celebrate all that you do to maintain the excellence of our village, and I, like my father before me, and his father before him, and his father before that – as we have always done – would like to thank you for all your service," she said to tumultuous applause. They all raised their glasses and toasted. Aramis' beamed at her with pride in his eyes.

She smiled at them all. "And now, without further ado, I present to you, Monsieur Laval."

The innkeeper rose then, his glass in hand, "Thank you my Lady, we, your people, are humbled by your love and example. We are proud to have you represent us at court," he said to which the gathered crowd roared their approval; Porthos' shrill whistle was discernible amid the clapping. She beamed and blushed and hid her bashfulness in Aramis' shoulder as he pressed his lips to the top of her head, regardless of what the town might think.

"And now, my friends," Monsieur Laval resumed, "Enough of my chatter. Let the fun and the dancing begin. Play on!" he shouted and the band struck up a lively tune and the members of the village got up to dance.

oOo


	31. What Love Is Worth, Ch 12

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 12**

The ball was exquisite.

D'Artagnan danced with the old chef Cookie, much to the chagrin of some of the younger ladies assembled.

Athos waltzed exceptionally with Claudine standing on both of his feet.

Porthos had joined a card game, and for once was not cheating, but drinking and laughing loudly with the good villagers assembled, the beautiful Marguerite at his side.

Aramis leaned against the wall chatting with John and some of the other men and smiled each time Christine whirled by in the arms of the Butcher. Before long, Aramis was apprehended by the Butcher's wife, and laughing, she whisked him onto the dance floor.

When the song finally ended, Christine collapsed in the vacant seat next to Marie, joined swiftly by D'Artgnan. Athos joined Aramis and John by the wall, while Claudine went to find Thomas to pester.

Once again Monsieur Laval stood before the dais, striking his goblet with a spoon.

"The time has come, my friends, to crown our Spring King and Queen!" he cried to tumultuous applause.

"Firstly, our king," he said pausing for dramatic effect. "This year's king has proven himself to be an invaluable asset to this community. His assistance in the preparation for this year's harvest was second to none, and we certainly hope he brings some friends of equal measure to assist in the next one!" he said as the townspeople laughed. "For our king, the people have chosen Aramis, of the King's Musketeers!" The room burst into applause. Athos shoved Aramis forward where, embarrassed, he knelt as an exquisite chain of flowers was hung around his neck.

"Now, for our queen, we have decided to break from tradition. We would have no one better represent us in any court than our beautiful Christine, the Comtesse des Etoiles." Once again, applause erupted and Porthos' whistle again cut through the din.

"As your host, I can't be, I'm supposed to be disqualified," she protested as D'Artagnan and Marie pulled her forward.

"Would you deny your people?" called Monsieur Laval, eyebrows wriggling in a joking manner.

"Never!" she called back and curtsied low as a crown of similar flowers was placed upon her head.

"We now invite our King and Queen to share their first ceremonial dance."

The room stilled as Aramis and Christine gazed at each other, both cheeks flushed with an eagerness and apprehension. He bowed to her and she curtsied to him. He held out his hand to her and she took it in hers. She lifted her skirt with the other hand as he pulled her close placing his hand upon her back. They breathed each other in, suddenly seeing nothing but the other. The music began and they slowly began to waltz. There was nothing else; the room and its people disappeared. There was only him and her, the music and each other's eyes.

"It's like a fairy tale," Marguerite whispered to Porthos who hastily wiped a traitorous tear from his eye.

"They're like the Princess and the Knight!" Claudine gushed. Thomas sighed and laid his head on his arms with a smile on his lips as he watched them dancing.

"Beautiful," sobbed Cookie.

They waltz could have lasted centuries as they held each other and turned about the room.

She smiled at him serenely, gazing up at him from beneath the curtain of her eyelashes as he led her off the floor and away from the people towards the terrace. He was dimly aware of others assuming their spots on the dance floor in their quest for the terrace, but it didn't matter.

For him there was only her. She was all that mattered. And he knew that it would be that way for him for the rest of his life.

oOo

"You look very handsome tonight," Christine said softly as they stepped out onto the terrace. "I believe the entire village has fallen in love with you. They couldn't take their eyes off you..." The lake in the distance sparkled in the moonlight.

"It wasn't me they were staring at, my love," said Aramis stopping. He still held her hand in his, so she turned to face him. "And it's not their love that I need, that I'm yearning for," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Aramis," she said, her eyes growing soft and scared.

"Please Christine, I need to say this," he replied. He led them to a bench and taking both of her hands in his, he spoke from his heart, laying everything on the line. "Christine, my darling Christine, you must know by now how much I love you and how much I adore you, entirely. You are the sun that lights my life. I love your laughter, your smile, your passion, your fire, your anger, your compassion, every facet, every fibre of you. But all of this means nothing, if you do not love me in return," he said. Christine's eyes had filled with tears, but she held on as he continued. "The things I said in Paris…you must understand how foolish I was. I hurt you. I know, and for that i will never forgive myself...I nearly killed myself in the process, but at the time, I thought that I was acting only in your best interest. I was so wrong. I have spent my time here trying, praying to earn your love back," he said his eyes burning into hers.

"When we kiss, when we touch – my god Christine – when I look into your eyes or catch a glimpse of your smile…I know you can feel the fire that's there." Christine held her breath.

"Please my love, I cannot go on much longer and not know for sure. You are all I need to survive in this world – just your love. I swore to you that if you didn't love me as I love you, I would leave and you would never hear from me again, and to this vow I hold," said Aramis, his voice straining under the emotional toll. "Please my love, please. I need to know, I need to know that hope is not lost. Tell me Christine, please, do you love me?"

She looked into his dark eyes and her heart smoldered in her chest. The pain was so strong that tears began to fall. She had to look away from him.

"It's not that simple," she whispered.

"Yes my darling, yes it is!" he cried. "If you love me, there is nothing, NOTHING that we can't accomplish."

"Please Aramis, we don't need to discuss this now," she pleaded, paling at the sight of his tear lined face.

"Yes my love, we do. If you say you don't love me, I will leave, I swear it. But if you do, I need to know. Please Christine, please. Tell me. Please. Do you love me as I love you?"

Again she looked at him, his dark eyes staring deeply into her grey ones.

"Yes," she whispered, "Yes. Of course I love you, Aramis. I have never loved anyone the way that I loved you...the way I still love you..." Aramis' face alighted at her words, but she continued speaking. "That terrible night when you said those things, that night at the biennale - I thought I would die. I fled Paris, a city where once I felt only joy; suddenly every brick, every street corner screamed your name and i couldn't bear it. i wasn't strong enough. I was weak. I lost track of everything. I had to flee. And then when I saw you, when you rode in here, I knew in that moment, after the hurt, after everything, that I still loved you just the same," she said, tears continuing to fall. "I have been in torment since you've been here, trying to figure out what to do," she said reaching forward and taking his face in her hands. "I love you Aramis, I do, but I can't," she said.

She stood suddenly. She couldn't look at him; it hurt too much. Her head and her heart were both throbbing. "I can't love you. I have a duty to my people. How can I give my heart to you and them? I can't risk falling apart again. When I lost you, I lost myself. I cared for nothing. I couldn't focus; I retreated. If I were to lose you again...I cannot afford to risk that again."

Aramis leapt to his feat. His words, urgent and desperate, "Christine, I swear it, I will never hurt you again. If you love me Christine, nothing else matters. Nothing. Just say you love me. Tell me to stay," he said and he pulled her back, stopping her retreat.

He placed his hand on her neck, once more entwining his fingers in her hair. They stared deeply into each other's tear-filled eyes. And then he kissed her. And she kissed him. They embraced, pouring all the love, pain, confusion and desperation they felt into that kiss. They never wanted it to end…

"Mistress, I'm sorry," said Marie from the terrace door, flanked by the other musketeers. "I'm so sorry, but your guests are leaving…"

Christine had her eyes closed as he dropped his forehead to press against hers. She took a deep, shaky breath and stepped away from him. "I have to do my duty," she said miserably and left the terrace.

Aramis stood frozen there, his back to his brothers.

Porthos stepped forward and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "What happened?" he asked cautiously.

Aramis turned to face him. He smiled slowly, his eyes still wrought with tears.

"She said she loves me," he said smiling sadly.

"That's great!" said Porthos, thumping him on the back.

He smiled again and shook his head. "I hurt her. I don't think I knew how badly until just now. She says the she is not sure she can risk that again for her people. She has to think of her duty."

"But you're smiling," said D'Artagnan, confused.

"She loves me," he responded, "so I have hope."

oOo

He sat at the table in the study and watched the bottom of her bedroom door. He could hear her restlessness. He hung his coat over the back of his chair and turned the pages of _Le_ _Morte D'Arthur_. The words of love and chivalry leapt from the page as though they were written just for him, but he barely registered them. His sole focus was on her.

Her door opened, slowly and cautiously. Aramis rose and went to her.

"Christine," he began, but she raised her hand and stopped him.

She was distraught; it was obvious. She pulled her lavender dressing gown closer around her shoulders.

"Please," she said. "Please stop."

"What is it?" he asked desperately, grasping her hand, "please tell me. Tell me what I can do. Tell me what you need, what you want."

"I don't know!" she said, her voice trembling, "I don't want to talk, I don't want to think anymore!"

"Then what do you want?" he asked.

"You," she said weakly. "I just want you. That's all I've ever wanted. Just you."

Before she could draw breath he had taken her in his arms, kissing her like he'd been dreaming about since he'd arrived. She kissed him back, the buttons flying as she pulled at his shirt. Hungrily his mouth found hers again as he pulled the dressing gown from her shoulders, the light material of her chemise was the only thing between her breast and his.

Her hand was in his hair, pulling him closer to her, desperate to absorb as much of the man she loved as she could. He matched her in every embrace, every desperate kiss. She needed him, and he needed her. They both needed the comfort that they had only found in each other. She pulled him into her bedroom. They jostled the boudoir knocking the brilliant vase of flowers to the floor as he guided her to the bed.

oOo

Christine sat there in the chair as she watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful and beautiful she felt her heart aching once again as she looked upon him in the dim early morning light.

Silently she crept from the room.


	32. What Love Is Worth, Ch 13

**What Love Is Worth, Ch. 13**

Pegasus snorted in the early morning mist as she adjusted his tack.

"You always came to the stables when you were troubled," said a voice.

She spun to face Athos where he stood watching her from the gate.

"Athos, please, I don't need a lecture. I know what I have to do," she said, her misery written all over her face. He shook his head and stepped towards her. His eyes burned as he looked at his oldest friend.

"Did you know that I had married?" he asked her, which stopped her hands where she was adjusting the stirrups. She shook her head slightly and looked at him. Grief and pain were etched deeply on his face.

"I loved her Christine, in ways that I didn't know were possible. She was my world," he said. "I found out how deceived I had been when she, my wife and the love of my life, stabbed my brother Thomas in the south parlour of our home." Christine gasped softly. She had heard that Thomas had died, but the circumstances had been a mystery.

"Thomas had discovered that my wife had lied her way into my life. When she killed him...I had to do my duty and ordered that the woman I loved be hanged from a tree. It was my duty," he said bitterly. "I lived with the belief that I had killed her for five years. I found out later that she had used her means to escape from the noose, but I had turned her into a monster – a murderer and assassin intent on seeking her revenge in my destruction. There is not a day that has passed that I haven't questioned my decision to follow my duty, and condemn the woman I loved instead of listening to my heart and hearing her pleas."

"Athos," Christine whispered, eyes brimming with tears for her brother and his heartache.

"I loved her Christine, and a part of me still does. A part of me always will, and it tortures me still. Love like that…can't be defeated," he said as he gazed into the discord of her eyes. "When I see you and Aramis…Christine, you can't give up on this. Not on a love this powerful. You will regret it for the rest of your life if you do." His oceanic eyes locked onto her stormy grey ones, pinning her to the spot for a moment as they conveyed the full depth of his pain.

"Your father always told us to follow our hearts, and they would never lead us astray," he said taking her hand. "Don't sacrifice your heart for your duty. Don't make the same mistake that I did," he said.

Christine heaved a sob, and turning from the swordsman, she mounted her horse and took off from the stables, her riding cloak billowing behind her.

oOo

Aramis rose from the bed, the scent of her still clinging to him. He saw her missing and frowned. He moved to the window in the study drawing his torn shirt over his shoulders. He leant against the glass, savouring its chill. He opened his eyes in time to see her riding from the property.

oOo

Christine returned to the manor and pulled her cloak from her neck as she entered the parlour and threw it on the edge of the table.

She poured herself a glass of brandy. Her hands shook. She downed her glass and poured herself another. She sat in a chair and stared, seeing nothing, her brow creased in anguish.

He knocked on the door as he entered.

She rose and looked at him.

"I've come to say goodbye Comtesse," Aramis said softly.

"You're leaving? Already?"

Aramis nodded.

"Where will you go?" she asked him.

"I'm not sure, Comtesse. I will need to speak to Treville. Perhaps there is an outpost somewhere that he can assign me to. I shall not linger in Paris long," he said.

She nodded and swallowed hard.

"I want to thank you for your hospitality, Comtesse. I will forever be grateful to you for sharing your world with me."

"Please Aramis, stop with this Comtesse thing," she begged.

He looked away, "I'm sorry…it's for self-preservation," he said. A silence fell between them like a stone. Behind her grey eyes, a war raged.

"I want you to know," he began, "That I stand by what I said. I love you. With all my heart. I swear to you that I will love no other but you for whatever days are left to me in this life, and long into the next. If you ever have any need of me in any way, you only have to call and I will be at your side with all the speed of the angels."

Christine nodded, a few traitorous tears escaping the confines of her lashes. She laughed softly, a mirthless miserable laugh. She looked at him with her tear filled eyes and it broke him.

"Aren't you going to take your final kiss?" she asked him quietly, her voice barely daring to whisper.

Aramis shook his head, his dark eyes desperately fighting to retain his own misery.

"No…as long as I have that, I can still hope. Te amo, mia tesora. I will love you forever, Christine," he said and bowing to her, he left the room.

She sat there for a long moment, then rising, slowly, as though from the grave, she left the room and made her way outside.

She watched Aramis as he walked away towards where his brothers were mounted. She heard Marie approach from behind her.

"So?" asked Athos, eyeing the marksman sadly as he approached and mounted his horse.

"She has chosen her duty," he said, "and I cannot blame her for that. She has a responsibility to her people."

Athos nodded grimly as he slowly led his brother across the lawn.

Christine shivered from the hilltop and crossed her arms tighter around her, desperately trying to hold herself together as the man she loved slowly rode away from her. They were nearing the bridge when he hesitated and looked back at her for the last time, before he lowered his hat, hiding bitter tears beneath its brim.

"This is wrong," Marie whispered to herself, the pain for her mistress obvious in her hushed tone.

Christine tried to regulate her breathing, but everything felt wrong. Her body was defeating her. She watched his retreating back as it crossed the bridge. Her lip trembled. "Aramis," she whispered as she stared after him.

Then, "Aramis," she said a little louder.

She couldn't do it! She couldn't let him go! "Are you sure?" that traitorous voice asked one last time, but this time her response was a resounding "YES!"

She took off down the hill. "Aramis!" she called as she ran towards the bridge towards the love of her life.

"Aramis!" they heard her call from behind them. The musketeers stopped their horses.

"Aramis!" she called again, and Aramis tilted his face to the sunlight beaming.

"Thank you," he whispered, crossing himself.

Porthos' joyous laugh startled him into action.

He spun his mare around and galloped pell-mell towards the bridge. He leapt from the saddle as the horse skidded to a halt and ran up the bridge where he met her at its centre. His arms wrapping around her as hers wrapped around his neck and they kissed each other, every particle in them screaming for joy in that passionate embrace.

"You came back to me," she whispered through her tears as she brushed the hair from his face. "You were leaving and I just couldn't...Every fibre of my being was screaming that it was wrong, that I couldn't let you leave. I love you, Aramis. I love you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I love you Aramis. Stay. Please, say you'll stay. Stay," she begged him.

Aramis wove his fingers through her hair and pulled her close and kissed her, his own tears speckling his cheeks. He gathered her into his arms and carried her back up the field towards the house, her hands curled into his hair as she kissed him back with all of her might.

Athos rode away smiling. Porthos and D'Artagnan spurred their horses to catch up.

"We will need to inform Treville that Aramis will be a few more days late in returning," he said with a smirk as they rode away to Paris.

oooooooooooooooooo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thank you all for reading, your reviews, and continuing to follow along with this love story.**_

 _ **This was a bit of an emotional romp. I hope you enjoyed it! I promise, we'll get back to more swashbuckling in the next episode!**_


	33. The Prize, Ch 1

_**A/N:**_ _ **I usually try to work on something else between my forays into the story of Christine, but I just couldn't keep this story at bay. Hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

 **The Prize, Ch. 1**

A few hours outside of Paris, in the private Eden of their own, the Musketeer and the Comtesse des Etoiles were happy. The warmth of early summer and its mild breeze only accentuated the perfection of their situation.

"I need to return to Paris in the morning," Aramis murmured as they lay together on the blanket spread beneath the canopy of leaves and remaining blossoms in the orchard, the June sun filtering through the boughs.

"Sh…" muttered Christine as she nuzzled his neck and pulled him closer, "Don't remind me. I'm not sure that I will be able to let you go this time," she said. "I plan on keeping you here as my prisoner," she whispered.

He smiled, his eyes closed, savouring the smell of her hair and the feeling of her eyelashes as they fluttered against his neck.

"Athos might have something to say about that…" he replied as he kissed the top of her head.

"I can handle Athos," she said stubbornly.

"And Treville…?" he teased as he gave her a tight squeeze and she laughed.

"I wish all days without duty were like this," Aramis said. "When will you be returning to Paris?"

"Two more weeks," Christine said as she rolled onto her back to lie next to him. Smiling, he kissed her softly. "There are a few things I need to organize here before I return for the High Season. I promised the Queen I would be on hand for the birth of her child. She still has a several weeks yet"

"Well then," he said, "We should take advantage of what time we have left here," he said, smiling roguishly as he turned onto his side and began to kiss her neck. She laughed in delight in the privacy of their love and the estate's orchard.

…Or the seeming privacy…

"Mistress! Mistress! Aramis!" cried a young voice.

Christine smiled at Aramis as she pushed him off her. He snatched at her and she laughed again.

"Mistress! Aramis!" called Marcus as he came nearer.

"What is it?" said Aramis. He sat up next to the Comtesse and kissed her neck one more time as the young stable boy stood panting at the edge of their blanket.

"What is it Marcus, darling?" asked Christine staring curiously at the boy.

"A coach is approaching...with riders," he panted, "A gold coach."

Christine and Aramis looked at each other, shock written on both their faces.

"A gold coach!" cried Aramis, leaping to his feet. He gathered the cut boughs that were still in blossom that had been laid next to the blanket in a bundle. Christine gathered the blanket and pushing it into Marcus' arms, the trio took off across the grounds.

oOo

The Royal Coach rumbled across the bridge and up the slight hill that led to the manor home at its crest, escorted by three musketeers and their Captain, Treville. Christine and Aramis dashed through the kitchen, depositing the boughs. Christine stood by the main doors as Aramis circled around to the stables.

"How do I look?" she asked her maidservant, Marie, distractedly, as the coach came to a halt.

Marie plucked a stray apple blossom from Christine's head and secured it properly into her hair. "You look as though you've been rolling around with your lover in the orchards most of the morning," she said with a smirk, "But still beautiful," she said to which Christine rolled her eyes. "I've asked Katherine to prepare your parents' suite in the west wing, and told Cookie to prepare the geese for dinner just in case," she whispered. Christine nodded and kissed the maid.

"You are my savior," she whispered.

Two servants leapt down from the golden coach and opened the doors, and King Louis and Queen Anne of France stepped down, greeted by the startled Comtesse des Etoiles and her household staff.

"Ah! Comtesse! How do you like our little surprise?" said the King with a grin as he cast an appraising eye on her and the members of her household.

"I am overjoyed to see you, your majesties, and quite surprised!" she said, smiling at the King.

The musketeers dismounted and Aramis joined them, assuming his place in their line.

"You couldn't have sent a warning?" Aramis muttered to Athos from the side of his mouth, his eyes sparking dangerously.

"We were unaware. You know how his Majesty can be," Athos replied curtly, rolling his eyes.

"Forgive us," said the Queen, pleading with her friend. "I had only mentioned to his Majesty that I had missed your company this morning, and he…decided to…surprise you..."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Christine warmly, smiling at the Queen. "You are always most welcome. You all are," she said, looking to the musketeers. Porthos and D'Artagnan grinned at her.

"I am glad to see my friends from the Musketeers," she said. "How are you Captain?" she said addressing Treville.

"I am well, my Lady," he replied with a small smile.

"Your Majesties must be tired from the trip. It feels like a long road from Paris," she said, returning her focus to the monarchs. "Can I ask, how long might you be honouring us with your presence?"

"Well, we escaped in secret," said the King conspiratorially. "No one should suspect that we are missing for three days at least!"

"Three days!" exclaimed Christine, paling slightly. Treville and Aramis frowned at the King's reply. The other musketeers smirked at her reaction. "We are quite honoured. I hope that we will be able to entertain your Majesties for so long. My estate is quite a simple one, far from the magnificence of the court," she said, recovering.

"I know!" said the King elatedly. "That's why we've come with such a small retinue and in such simple clothes," he said, gesturing to his still very fine garments, evidently very impressed with himself.

"Of course," replied Christine, smiling indulgently again. "Well, I hope your stay will be comfortable and relaxing, away from the frivolities of court," she said. "Please, why don't you let my maidservant Marie show you to your rooms. Perhaps once you are refreshed, your Majesty would like a tour of the grounds? Your musketeers have been here before and will be able to stow your horses."

"Yes, I think I might enjoy that," said the King, not noticing that Aramis had joined the others, as he held his hand out to the pregnant Queen. They followed Marie past the awed servants and into the house, the two servants carrying the royals' trunks.

Treville followed the King, giving Christine an apologetic smile, which she returned.

Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan led the horses and the coach and driver towards the stables assisted by Marcus and Victor.

Christine approached Aramis, worry clearly written on her face. He took her in his arms and kissed her.

"Don't worry," he said. "It'll only be for three days. Just two nights – or one weekend if you look at it that way," he said, cupping her face in his hands. She smiled at him.

"I must go. I need to prepare the staff before the King is ready for his tour," she said. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran off. His eyes shone brightly after her as his hand grazed across the soft impression her lips had left.

oOo


	34. The Prize, Ch 2

**The Prize, Ch. 2**

The Queen had felt drained following the arrival at the manor and opted to remain in her rooms to rest. The King, however, was insistent on his tour.

Aramis and Athos mounted their horses to accompany the King and Comtesse on his reconnaissance.

After touring the grounds and exiting the woods on their return to the home, the quartet passed the long stretch of grass that lay beyond the great house.

"What's that area, with the slight bandstand?" asked the King.

"My family had a tradition of hosting games of skill for local nobility and the men in town," she said, "A bit of a competition open to all worthy competitors."

"I love competition!" declared the King. "We should host a tournament! What do you say? And the prize shall be a single kiss from your lips, my dear!"

"Your Majesty, you must surely be jesting," said Christine blushing awkwardly. Aramis' tensed. "That's hardly a prize men would compete for."

"Nonsense," said the King. "It's short notice, but I believe if we send word to Paris of a competition for a kiss from the beautiful Comtesse des Etoiles, quite a few eligible bachelors would turn up to make some good competition for a chance at that prize. I believe that you truly are one of the most beautiful women in all of France, my dear. Wouldn't you agree, Athos? Aramis?" he asked as Christine blushed deeper.

Athos shifted his eyes to look at Aramis.

"Well?" demanded the King.

"The Comtesse des Etoiles is the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on," said Aramis, seriously, his soft brown eyes locking onto Christine's grey ones.

"You are too kind," she muttered blushing even more deeply. The King raised an eyebrow at her reaction.

"Then it's settled. I'll send riders to Paris immediately. The competition will take place the day after tomorrow," he pronounced, a small smirk forming on his lips at the formation of his potential suspicion.

Christine smiled meekly at the King. "Your Majesty, shall we race back to the stables?" she asked, desperate for a distraction.

"An excellent idea!" he cried. "On my mark – MARK!" he shouted and his stallion leapt forward, quickly met by Christine on Pegasus, and flanked by Athos on Roger and Aramis on Bella.

oOo

Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. The King exulted in dining "quaintly" with the musketeers and told each person individually how he was nearly outpaced by the Comtesse and the musketeers, but won the day with his superior royal horsemanship.

"I tell you Treville," he said, holding his glass of wine precariously, "Perhaps I should step into the garrison to instruct your recruits on horsemanship."

Treville smiled. "I'm sure my men will be most…educated by your example, sire," he said. D'Artagnan snorted and coughed into his napkin.

"This tournament will be great fun as well!" exclaimed the King. "My messengers should have reached Paris by now!"

From behind her, Aramis poured Christine a glass of wine and handed it to her, their fingers touching and maintaining a lingering contact during the exchange. He gave her a consoling smile. The Queen happened to look over right at that instance. She sipped her glass of water to hide her surprise at the tender touch.

"Your majesty," said Christine imploringly as Aramis resumed his seat next to Porthos, "Please, let me not be the prize. I will put up 500 livres to the winner to be donated to a charity of their choosing instead."

"That's a very generous offer, your Majesty," said Athos, to which the others nodded their approval.

"No "your majesties" here," Louis pouted, "This home seems magical to me," he said smiling at his wife and the Comtesse. "For the first time, I am truly of the people. Here we are to be Louis and Anne only," he said, catching all their eyes and raising his glass to the musketeers. "But no, the prize remains. The invitations have already gone out."

"Well then" said Christine, "I insist that all men be invited to compete, noble or not. My family has always believed that the value of a man comes not from the status of his birth but by the measure of his heart. If a nobleman wins, the 500 livres purse will be donated, but if a common man wins, the purse will go to him and his family to do with as they please."

"What a wonderful idea!" the King declared. "I will match your prize!"

The party around the table clapped their approval and the King beamed.

oOo


	35. The Prize, Ch 3

**The Prize, Ch. 3**

The King rose bright and early, intent on setting out on a hunt in the great woods.

Well, bright and early for a king, anyway. It was mid-morning when he finally set out with Treville and his musketeers.

"What a fine countryside this is," said the King. "Most tranquil. The man who marries the Comtesse will be fortunate indeed. It's quite the acreage to manage, plus the taxes, the village – quite too much for the Cometesse to manage on her own," he said.

"I believe," Treville said, "that Christine is managing exceptionally on her own."

"Yes, yes, Treville. I know that you're partial to her, you sly devil," said the King with a wink.

"I respect her, sire, as an uncle would a favourite niece," said Treville with a smile. "She has been a great benefit to the garrison and has proven herself to be quite resourceful and capable."

"But the Comtesse should marry," the King insisted. "I say, I doubt I've met a finer woman in all my life. Would you not agree, Aramis?" he asked with a slight twinkle in his eye. The marksman was startled at being addressed.

"It is not for me to comment on the Comtesse's desire to marry," he said, awkwardly.

"How about you Athos?" the King goaded.

"I must agree with Aramis, Sire," he said.

"And I must insist you answer," said the King.

Athos sighed slightly. "I have known the Comtesse since childhood. She has a fine spirit, a great mind, and an independence, which is admirable. She is a more than adequate leader of her people on her own. She is no fool, and will only marry for the most profound of loves. The man who is able to earn her heart will be fortunate beyond measure," he said with a small smile, his eyes flashing at his brother.

"Indeed," said the King with a smirk. "Fortunate indeed. It appears that she is a woman whose beauty and virtue are in such a battle for supremacy that she has all my musketeers tongue-tied," the King laughed.

"I believe we've found the tracks of a stag, your Majesty," D'Artagnan interjected, changing the subject and allowing Aramis to breathe once more. Porthos drew alongside him and gave him a slight nudge and a wink. Aramis smiled back weakly.

"Excellent D'Artagnan! Gentlemen! We hunt!" he said as they made their way deeper into the brush.

oOo

It was nearing noon. Anne and Christine had spent a relaxed morning reading in the parlour, and were now seated out in the fragrant garden for their mid-day meal discussing the recent activities at court and the progression of the Queen's pregnancy.

"I have greatly missed your company. It has seemed like ages since I have had someone I could speak openly with," said the Queen.

Christine smiled warmly. "I am sorry for that, your Majesty. It was my duty to be with my people for the Spring planting," she explained.

"I quite understand," Anne replied. "I feel as though there is much that I have missed," she said casually, "for example, how long have you been in love with Aramis?"

Christine blanched at this question, then reddened instantly, causing the Queen to laugh.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked breathlessly.

"Well," said the Queen, "It is obvious that he is madly in love with you at any rate. He couldn't look away from you all evening. I think in a court setting, you have both been exceedingly discreet in hiding your love. I had no idea until I saw you together yesterday. Here though, in the intimacy of your home, I'm afraid your love is tangible. It is enviable," she said to her friend, reaching out to take her hand.

Christine gave the queen's hand a small squeeze. "Then I will admit to you, that I do love him. With all my heart."

"And I am exceedingly happy for you. Aramis is a good man, clever and honourable, and one of the best men within the regiment. You are very well suited... And I believe that I am only to be "Anne" while here," she said teasingly

"Thank you, Anne," Christine responded with a small smile. "I hope the King views it the same way you do…"

"Despite some of his influences, Louis can be quite modern in his way and is a firm believer in love. I know it may not always seem like it, but he is well aware of the service of his musketeers. He too will know that Aramis is a good man," the Queen said thoughtfully.

Christine smiled once more at the Queen. "It feels so good to tell someone," she said with a laugh.

"I'll admit," said the Queen, "I had some suspicions that you were plagued by some romantic malady when you fled Paris after the biennale. To be honest, I thought it may have had to do with the advances made by the Duke of Mantua. He is still in Paris you know, though his sister has returned to Italy."

At this Christine blushed again. "That was part of my reason for leaving," she said. "Marcello told me he loved me. He asked me to marry him," she admitted, "but my heart was already given to Aramis, long before Marcello and his sister arrived in Paris," she said. She then began to recount the entire story of their love affair – the meeting in the market, the fire, and the entire ordeal with Marcello and Valentina, her flight from Paris and their reunion, and the confirmation of their love.

At the story's end, the Queen had tears in her eyes. "I am overjoyed for you, my dear friend. Your love sounds like a fairytale!"

Christine smiled. "Truly, I did not expect love like this to exist. Now if only it were so easily accepted by the King and court...Aramis is not of noble birth…"

"That should not matter! Would you love him any more if he had a title?" the Queen asked.

Christine laughed, "I would love him just the same if he were a pauper on the streets. He is a musketeer. He fights for good and the innocent and the crown, and I love him for it. I would not change a thing about him."

"Then that should be all that matters," the Queen insisted. She smiled brightly at the Comtesse, squeezing her hand tightly. Her expression clouded over suddenly as she gazed over Christine's shoulder. "Were you expecting company?"

"It can't be these silly competitors of the King's so soon," she said turning in the direction the Queen was staring.

There, astride his horse, was Marcello, the Duke of Mantua, marching towards them. He started when he saw the Queen and bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty!" he said, "Well met, my Queen, Comtesse. I was not expecting to see you here, your Majesty."

"Nor should you, Marcello. Our reprieve from Paris was done in secret. What are you doing here, my good Duke?" the Queen asked politely.

Marcello reddened slightly. "In faith your majesty, I set out to beg the Comtesse to return to Paris. The city has been dull and desolate for far too long without her presence."

The Queen's eyes widened as the Duke bowed again. Christine seemed to have been struck momentarily dumb. "The King is not here at present," the Queen said in the awkward silence that followed. "He is hunting with his musketeers."

"I can take you to join them," said Christine, jumping to her feet and finding her voice at last.

"I would be most appreciative," he said smiling and bowing to her.

Christine cast one last panicked look at her friend before heading towards the stables.

Reaching them, she called to Victor to ready her horse. He led Philomena out by her harness.

"I'm sorry mistress, the King insisted on riding Pegasus for his hunt. I thought it a good idea as Philomena startles easily at gunfire when in groups. Peg is more steady on a hunt," he said apologetically.

"That was wise of you," she said smiling at the boy whose ears reddened slightly. "Can you please inform Cookie that the Duke of Mantua will join us for dinner? Your Grace, will you need accommodations?"

"That won't be necessary. I have acquired a room at the inn," he said with a smile.

With that she mounted her horse and they exited the stables.

oOo


	36. The Prize, Ch 4

**The Prize, Ch. 4**

"Will you not speak to me?" Marcello asked her as they rode across her property.

Christine sighed. "I don't know why you came here, Marcello," she said, not looking at the man.

"I came, because I am still in love with you," he said. "I needed to see you. I came to convince you to return to Paris with me."

"Marcello, please. My answer to you remains the same. Though I value your friendship, I do not love you."

"Not yet, but you might," he said with a smile. "My sister has returned to Italy. I refused to leave without at least attempting to win your hand."

Christine ignored that comment. "The King set out a few hours ago with his Musketeers. If we are lucky they should not be too far in," she said.

"His musketeers?" Marcello asked, his tone growing cold.

"Yes," she said. "Captain Treville, Athos, Porthos, D'Artagnan and Aramis," she said pointedly.

"Aramis," he hissed. "So, have you reconciled with that musketeer?" he said. "I stand by what I said before – he is not worthy of you. Perhaps when you can see us in focus side-by-side, you will realize that I possess all that he lacks."

She scoffed slightly. "All that he lacks is a title to those that care about such inane things. Luckily, I have one, which more than satisfies that need."

"We shall see," said Marcello, with a gleam in his eye. He had missed the way she challenged him. She spoke her mind and was undaunted by him and he relished it. "I said I came here to win your heart. I welcome the competition."

oOo

The hunters' trail was easy to locate and the Comtesse and Duke soon came upon the hunting party within a small clearing.

"Marcello!" called the King as they approached. "What excellent timing! Have you come for the tournament?" he asked. Christine reddened. Aramis and the Duke eyed each other coldly. The Duke shifted his gaze to address his cousin, the King.

"Alas your majesty, I came only to throw myself at the feet of this magnificent creature," he said, gesturing towards Christine. "I'm afraid I do not know what tournament you're referring to."

"Well!" said the King, "How fortuitous! We shall be hosting a tournament tomorrow in which the prize shall be a kiss from the Comtesse! I expect you'll be entering?" he asked with a grin.

"Without hesitation," said Marcello, "Though I doubt any man here is worthy of such a prize," he said, his eyes flashing at Aramis.

"How has your hunt been?" Christine asked the King, changing the topic.

"Most excellent. Aramis took down the stag we were tracking with an excellent shot," he said.

"Only because you injured him, your Majesty," said Aramis.

"Louis," corrected the King. "And don't be so modest Aramis. Your skill with a rifle is well known in Paris. I'm sure even the Duke here has heard of your talents."

"I know all I need to of Monsieur Aramis," said Marcello curtly, his grin belying the sharp tone and the challenge in his eyes.

"Come," said the King, beaming at the Duke. "You are just in time to catch the end of the hunt! Let's be off!" he said, firing a pistol into the air in his excitement.

The sudden burst startled Philomena, who reared suddenly, unaccustomed to gunfire. Distracted, Christine was unable to keep her seat and fell from her horse who took off through the woods.

Aramis was at Christine's side instantly, cradling her against him, his hand gently stroking her face. She opened her eyes and looked into his, her hand automatically reaching for his.

"Good god!" exclaimed the King. "Are you alright, my Lady?"

"I'm quite fine," she said a little groggily, Aramis' brow furrowed in concern.

"You most certainly are not," remarked the King.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea for the Comtesse to return to the house to recover," Treville supplied.

"Yes, I quite agree Treville," the King said. "Aramis, you will return the Comtesse to her bedchamber where she is not to exert herself for the rest of the afternoon," he commanded.

Aramis mounted his horse as Porthos easily lifted Christine into his arms. He held her tightly and she breathed deeply as she rested her head against his chest. He looked down into her eyes and she smiled up at him.

"Thank you, your M-Louis," she corrected with a smile. "I shall for once be a good patient and take your advice and rest for the remainder of the afternoon."

"Aramis will see that she is comfortable," said Treville confidently.

"And you're not to over exert yourselves," Porthos whispered to the marksman with a smirk.

With a small grimace at Porthos, Aramis turned his horse and began to ride slowly through the trees back towards the manor.

Upon returning to the stables, Marcus and Victor rushed to greet them.

"Mistress!" cried Victor, "I'm sorry! What happened?"

"You were right Victor, Phil did startle. It was not your fault though. I was distracted and not aware of the warnings."

"Take my mare, and see if you can find her," said Aramis as he dismounted and helped Christine descend.

"She's probably in the orchard," said Marcus thoughtfully. "She likes to eat the unripe fruit."

oOo

Aramis brought Christine to her room off of the study and lay her gently on the bed.

"I'm quite alright," she whispered as he lay himself next to her.

"I'm sure," said Aramis, "But I've been granted permission to give you a thorough examination which I believe includes holding you in my arms for the next few hours until the King and his party return."

She smiled and kissed him fiercely. "In that case, I believe that I am quite ailing and will require all of your focused attention."

He kissed her lips and smiling sadly, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"The Duke of Mantua," he said. "I know that he's in love with you. He confronted me in Paris. He will enter this competition tomorrow."

She pulled her fingers through his hair and held his head so he couldn't look away.

"Yes," she said. "Marcello has said that he's in love with me. He kissed me and asked me to marry him. In Paris. After…everything." Aramis' eyes flashed with a look of hurt and regret. "But it doesn't matter," she said. "I told him then, as I told him when he showed up here, as I am telling you now again Aramis, as I will tell you for the rest of my life if you'll let me. I am in love with **_you_** Aramis. No one else. No matter the outcome of this ridiculous tournament."

She sighed. "I have spent my entire life trying to avoid this noble trap of becoming a prize in their silly games, to be recognized for my own worth...and here, now, in my own home, I have become just that - a prize - in order to satisfy my King."

He stroked her hair. "No one will ever own you or diminish who you are," he said and kissed her, passionately, until her frustrations ebbed away and they gave themselves to each other as the afternoon light filtered in through the window.

oOo

Later that afternoon, with Christine resting peacefully, He kissed her gently and she smiled. He backed out of the room and quietly drew the study doors closed behind him.

"How is the Comtesse?" a woman's voice asked softly.

Surprised, Aramis turned to face his Queen. "She fell from her horse," he said. "She is resting, but should be up soon."

"I am glad," said the Queen as she stepped towards Aramis, whispering quietly, "And I am glad for you both."

Aramis' eyes went wide.

The Queen smiled. "Christine confessed to me after I came to her with my suspicions. It is hard to hide a love that's so powerful," she said with a smile.

Aramis smiled back and bowed.

"Thank you, your Majesty. Her love has made me a truly blessed man."

"And I will champion it, if need be, in court. Something this pure and beautiful should not be hidden Aramis," she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

He bowed to her again as she left him in the hallway.

oOo

Dinner that night was exquisite. Cookie pulled out all the stops as they dined on the King's stag, which was cooked with early summer apples and was bedecked with the blossoms from the boughs that Aramis and Christine had collected the day before. Marcello joined them for the meal, and he was in good spirits. Charming as ever, he constantly tried to engage Christine in conversation, which she participated in politely, the Queen, Treville and Athos running interference between the Duke and Aramis. The King spoke animatedly to Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"This meal has been exceptional," said the King as he bit into another helping of one of the pastry chef's masterpieces. "The winner of the competition will benefit from a chef like that – or at least his waistline will," joked the king, at which Porthos chuckled lowly.

"Yes, my love," the Queen corrected delicately, "But the competition is for only a kiss. Once paid, the Comtesse will owe the man nothing else."

"Yes my dear one, of course. But who knows what a kiss can lead to, right gentlemen?"

"Perhaps you would enjoy some music from the country?" Christine interrupted.

"A wonderful idea!" said the King.

"Will you dance?" Marcello asked.

"Yes, do!" said the King.

Christine smiled at Louis. "I would your Majesty, alas, I am still quite faint from my fall, so I must decline," she said.

"I shall dance with you Marcello," said the Queen rising. "Though I can't say I've been part of a country dance before. D'Artagnan, perhaps you can show us. You grew up in the countryside. Gascony, I believe."

"Yes," said D'Artagnan, shocked that the Queen knew this about him and had retained it. Marie stepped to D'Artagnan's side and they began to instruct the Queen and Duke in the dance as the musicians began a lively tune.

The King and the others cheered and clapped along as the couples danced, Christine stroking Aramis' hand from beneath the table.

As the night continued, the King drew Porthos and Marcello into a game of cards, while D'Artagnan and Treville spoke to the Queen about Gascony and the different parts of France she had never visited. Christine spoke privately with Athos and Aramis, Aramis absentmindedly still holding her hand as she jested with Athos. All parties quietly internalizing the absurdity yet strange normalcy of chatting amicably with the French royal family away from a court setting.

oOo

As the evening ended and Marcello returned to his room at the inn, the others made to retire to their rooms as well. Aramis hesitated further down the corridor as he escorted Christine towards the study.

"Perhaps I should retire to the guest rooms with the others this evening," he said to her softly.

She placed her hands around his neck as he moved his to encircle her waist. "This is my home," she said. "If I am to be a prize tomorrow, should I not receive some reward tonight?" she asked him playfully. He grinned at her, his dark eyes smouldering.

She laughed as he pulled her to him and kissed her.

Stopping as they exited the ballroom, the Queen looked down the corridor to witness the display. The King quietly stood next to her.

"He's in love with her," Louis whispered, startling his wife.

"And she loves him," Anne replied softly. "How did you know?" she asked her husband as they turned away from the lovers and proceeded towards their suite.

"I had my suspicions," he said sagely, "But when she fell today, it left no doubt in my mind. It was in the way he flew to her and cared for her and the way she clung to him. It was like watching a painting come to life," he said poetically.

"If you know this," the Queen asked, "will you not cancel this silly competition?"

The King shook his head. "If he loves her, as I love you," he said taking his wife's hand and kissing it softly, "He will let no other man win her kiss. He will risk his pride for her. I would lay down my life before I let another man have what I value most," he said solemnly.

The Queen halted, overcome by her husband's emotional display, as she always was when he spoke like this. "This truly is a magical place," she said softly. He placed his hand on her blossoming belly and she kissed him in the beautiful west wing suite of the great manor home.


	37. The Prize, Ch 5

The **Prize, Ch. 5**

The men began arriving at daybreak. They set up their tents near the pavilion. The stables were soon over-crowded, and horses were tied up in a makeshift paddock or next to their master's tent. Nobles, their servants, and many from the village flowed onto the north pavilion to witness or participate in the King's tournament.

"Will you still not compete?" Athos asked, as yet another nobleman sauntered past them.

Aramis shook his head. "How can I compete in something she so abhors? What good would winning do her?"

"And worse yet, what if you lost?" D'Artagnan offered. He cowered under the violent glare the Spaniard threw his way.

"'Feel bad for her," said Porthos as they took their positions under the King's box. "She looks right miserable."

And indeed she did. Christine was pale and withdrawn where she sat next to the King who looked giddy as a schoolboy in comparison. The Queen, seeing her friend's discomfort as she took in the growing crowd, whispered something softly to her husband, who pouted, but nodded.

"Welcome gentlemen!" he called rising to his feet. The gathered men fell silent. "I am so pleased with the exceptional turnout at our short notice tournament, which I think speaks very highly of the esteem in which we hold our dear Comtesse," he said as Christine further paled. Marie and the Queen swiftly took her hands in support as the crowd roared.

"Now, a few housekeeping rules. As there are so many gathered here to vie for our prize, we have had to limit the number of qualified applicants. Only men aged from 25-40 will be permitted to compete. Each man may only compete for himself. Champions will not be permitted," he said which elicited several protests from the crowd. "Competition will be held with swords until first blood is drawn. Let the games begin!" cried Louis to the applause of the crowd and those qualified to compete.

The battlefield cleared of competitors save for one small voice.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" cried a boy.

"Victor?" gasped Christine rising to her feet.

"What is it my dear boy?" asked the King, clearly amused.

"Please sire, I want to compete!" Victor pleaded.

"Compete?" asked the King, a broad grin on his face.

"Yes sire, I'm in love with her – the Comtesse, sire. She saved me from the streets of Paris. I love her sire, please."

The crowd roared its laughter and the boy went red. Christine glared at those laughing.

One boorish man stepped forward holding a whip.

"Come off it boy. Enough of your games," he said cruelly brandishing the whip at the boy. Victor flinched and fell back.

"Your majesty!" cried Christine as the whip lashed out again, but this time it was caught in mid-air. Aramis had stepped into the lash's path. His boot was pressed down on its end and winding the slack around his arm, he pulled the man from his feet so he fell face down into the dirt.

"You dare strike out at this boy?" he growled, casting the lash aside. "Come, I will play with you," Aramis said coldly. He turned to check on Victor as Athos and Treville made their way across the field. Porthos and D'Artagnan stood before the red-faced noble glaring daggers.

"That was very ungentlemanly," the King scolded the man.

"I'm sorry," said the noble. "I was only motivated by the Comtesse's beauty. I was overeager to prove myself," he said at which Christine's eyes glared with hatred at the vile man.

"Victor, are you alright?" Aramis asked from his knees before the thirteen-year-old stable boy.

"Yes," he said softly, staring at his feet.

"Victor," said Aramis, "I need to confess something to you...I too am in love with Christine. I love her truly, with every fibre of my being. I promise you, that I will let no harm come to her while my body draws breath. Do you trust me Victor? Will you allow me to compete?"

Victor nodded his head slowly and raised his head to face Aramis, his eyes burning. "Yes," he said, "I love her, but I know you do too, Aramis. Give them hell," he said passionately as Aramis smiled at him and helped him to his feet.

"That was a very brave thing you did," said Athos to the boy.

"Indeed," said Captain Treville. "As I understand it, you are quite happy as a stable hand here, but if one day, when you are older, and the Comtesse supports it, I think there may be a place for a man like you among the Musketeers," he said. The boy's eyes lit up at these words as he walked by the Captain's side to stand next to Porthos and D'Artagnan who clapped the lad on the shoulders when he joined them.

The ignorant noble stood at the far end of the battle ring, brandishing his sword sloppily.

"Remember," said Athos with a raised eyebrow, "it's only to first blood. No need to kill him."

Aramis responded with a devilish smirk, one that Athos knew well. For once Athos didn't roll his eyes, but met it with a devilish smirk of his own as he patted Aramis on the shoulder and exited the ring.

"Come now," called the noble as Aramis drew his rapier. "Let me teach you the lesson I should have taught that little mongrel," he hissed.

"That boy has more honour in a single hair on his head than you could ever hope to have," Aramis growled lowly.

"En garde!" the man shouted and went to make a wild overhead strike. Aramis easily sidestepped the blow. The man was carried forward by his own momentum and landed face first once more in the dirt. With a vicious swipe across the man's ample rump, Aramis split the man's breeches and scored the upper half of the back of his thighs with his blade. The man howled at the pain. Riding, sitting, standing and walking would be most uncomfortable for the next few days. A good lesson.

The crowd roared and the King stood clapping and laughing.

"I believe that justice was well served. Congratulations Aramis, you are through to the next round!"

oOo

As the competition continued, it was soon quite clear that Aramis and Marcello were by far the best swordsmen of the bunch.

D'Artagnan and Porthos drew close to Athos as Marcello fought one particular noble who was managing to offer a bit of competition.

"What do you think?" asked D'Artagnan, observing Marcello's unique fighting style.

"They will be well matched," said Athos. "The Italian nobility are required to serve, so The Duke is well honed in battle. His technique is exquisite. He fights in a style common to Southern Italy which uses the parrying dagger in his right hand as the more deadly of instruments, saving the rapier as a more defensive tool. It is most impressive," said Athos.

"And Aramis?" D'Artagnan prompted.

Athos sighed. "Aramis is one of the most inventive swordsmen I have ever met. Though his technique may not be as structured in the traditional sense as the Duke's, he is a marksman by nature – patient, but quick to react and recalculate his attack. Aramis has always had a sixth sense for danger which has served him well in many battles."

"So what do you reckon?" Porthos asked as Marcello defeated his opponent.

"Have you ever known Aramis to let anything stand in between him and the woman he loves?" Athos said with a raised eyebrow.

"But Marcello loves her too," said D'Artagnan worriedly.

Athos turned to the younger man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have never doubted the strength and power of Aramis' heart. Trust me, he will not lose."

oOo

* * *

 ** _A/N: Not sure if there is an "Italian Style" fencing technique...for the purposes of this story, let's pretend there is and it follows the description I laid out... ;-P_**


	38. The Prize, Ch 6

**The Prize, Ch. 6**

As the competition neared its end, two combatants remained. Aramis stood on the pitch in his shirtsleeves and breeches, Marcello stood likewise.

"Our two remaining competitors are Marcello, Duke of Mantua and Aramis of the King's Musketeers," decreed the King. "This final match will not be to first blood, but will continue until one man surrenders."

"Please, your Majesty, end this. I don't believe that either man will concede," whispered the Queen worriedly who had watched her friend grow paler and paler as the tournament progressed.

"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense," he said, resettling himself on his chair.

"But your Majesty, they may kill each other," she whispered urgently, but the King did not respond.

Athos approached Aramis as he rolled his shoulders, staring out across the pitch at the Duke. "How are you feeling?" he asked, to which Aramis raised an eyebrow.

Athos smirked. "She is worried about you," he said. Aramis looked to the King's box and saw Christine staring at him, her hands pressed to her lips in prayer. He caught her eye and she smiled at him with as much confidence as she could muster.

"Look out for his right arm," Athos warned. "He will tease with the rapier but it's the dagger that's deadly," he said, and Aramis nodded. "And Aramis…do not throw your life away. Remember, at the end of all this, her heart has still chosen you."

oOo

Athos left the area. Aramis pulled his parrying dagger into his left hand and held his rapier in his right. Marcelo stood as his mirror reflection - dagger in the right hand, rapier in the left. Truly this was a match of opposites - structured technique versus improvisation, left versus right, noble versus common - and both men in love with Christine.

Aramis inclined his head to Marcello to symbolize his readiness. Marcello smirked and the men began to circle. Christine, ghostlike, fell back in her seat. She could not watch the man she loved risk his life to battle this man who loved her. She shut her eyes and tried to block out the reactions of the crowd.

Marcello's attack was relentless. His swift sharp blows with his rapier drove Aramis backwards. His eyes bore down on Aramis as his rapier continued its barrage on the musketeer. Aramis' dark eyes tracked each motion and he countered each stroke that came his way. Marcello drew close and moved to strike with his short blade he carried in his dominant hand, but Aramis was prepared for that. He was not prepared for the strike that followed from the pommel of Marcello's rapier. He spun away from the impact with a small cut to his cheekbone.

They readied themselves and the match began again. This time Aramis was on the offensive. A few forceful swipes and Aramis landed a decisive hit to Marcello's left breast. The stroke tore the man's shirt and began to bleed.

Porthos watched the exchange intently, his nerves stretched tight. He couldn't present the calm fortitude of Athos while he watched his brother fight – not with the stakes so high. He reflexively clenched and unclenched his fists. D'Artagnan nervously paced back and forth along with the competitors, mesmerized by the skill of the duellers. Athos and Treville stood like sentinels of stone, pillars with frozen eyes watching every muscle that flinched during the duel. Some would have sworn that the pair did not even breathe.

Another parry, riposte, counter-riposte, parry and Aramis landed a hit to Marcello's thigh. Marcello growled and led a fierce attack in reply. Aramis hissed as he felt a blow to his arm cut. They wove in and out. Aramis managed to engage Marcello's dagger hand, and the two short blades were cast aside in the effort.

Christine could hardly breathe. The cries of the crowd had forced her eyes open so she sat tensed on the edge of her seat tracking the battle. Back and forth the men attacked. They were tiring, but neither would give ground.

A fresh burst of attacks and Marcello managed to divest Aramis of his rapier. It flew a few feet away.

Marcello smelled victory and blood. Christine rose suddenly, her nails digging into the balcony rail, fearing the worst. She couldn't breathe. She felt as though the world was about to spin off its axis. Only Aramis filled her vision. She swore she could feel his heart beating alongside her own.

Aramis stood ready as Marcello made to strike a deadly blow.

His confidence at its height, Marcello aimed a decisive overhand blow. Aramis drew back at the last moment, then threw himself under the follow up swipe of the blade. He rolled across the pitch and came up with his rapier back in hand.

He lashed out, striking Marcello in the arm and kicking him backwards so he dropped his blade and fell to his knees. Aramis surged forward and brought his blade so it rested against the Duke's neck. He kicked the blade out of the reach of where the Duke now knelt in the dirt. Everyone held their breath.

"Yield," he growled.

Marcello did not move.

"Yield," Aramis repeated. "Please don't make me kill you."

"You are not worthy of her," Marcello hissed.

"But I love her, and she believes I am. She has chosen me, and that is the only thing that matters," he said adjusting his stance. "Now yield," he repeated forcefully.

Marcello looked over at Christine. Dressed in pale lilac, she looked more beautiful than any marble masterpiece in Florence. He looked into her proud and hopeful eyes as she looked at Aramis. He dropped his head and nodded.

"I yield," he said loudly his eyes now fixed on the ground, finally accepting her choice and his true defeat in the gaze she gave her musketeer. Aramis stepped back and cast his rapier aside. The crowd erupted as Aramis held out his hand to draw the Duke to his feet.

Marcello took the proffered arm and rising he leant in close to the marksman.

"Be worthy of her. Always," he whispered to Aramis.

"I will," Aramis returned confidently.

oOo

Marcello left the fighting area and Aramis turned to face his love and his King, both of whom stood beaming. Tears of relief fell from Christine's eyes, which she hastily wiped away. Porthos was doing the same. D'Artagnan, Athos and Treville wore three identical pride-filled grins.

"Well done Aramis! The prize is yours!" announced the King as the crowd burst into applause once more.

"Thank you, your Majesty. If it pleases you, I would have the prize money split – a third to help replace the church bell in town, a third to the orphanage of St. Anthony in Paris, and a third to the benefit of Captain Treville for much needed repairs to the Garrison."

"Excellent decisions Aramis. But now, claim your kiss from the Comtesse."

Aramis smiled and shook his head. "I cannot, your majesty. Her kiss is not mine to claim. It is one I would gratefuly accept if offered, but I have no right over her to take it, nor does any man. In truth your Majesty," he said kneeling before the King, "I am in love with Christine, the Comtesse des Etoiles, and I beg your permission to pursue my suit for her affection and her hand."

Silence reigned as Aramis knelt there.

"And the Comtesse?" asked the King, "Does she love you too?"

"Yes," cried Christine unhesitatingly with strength and a fire in her eyes. "Yes your Majesty. I love him with all my heart. More than anything else in this world. I love him," she said.

"Well then," said the King, pausing. "It is true, that I am appointed by God to be your king and ruler," he began, "But what is almost as rare as monarchy and regency is love. True love." The Comtesse and the Musketeer dared not breathe as the King continued.

"Aramis, I know you to be a good man. It may not seem as though I am involved in all of the deeds of my musketeers, but I am well aware of most of your good actions. You have served me faithfully for many years. You and your brothers' acts of valor both on the battlefield and in defence of the Queen and I are plentiful. Not only that, but rumours of your good charitable deeds have reached me too."

The King paused again. "Your long and faithful service alone would have qualified you to present yourself before me to pursue the Comtesse, but as she has so fervently chosen you as the object of her affection, both she and God have marked you as her equal regardless of your lack of a title. A gift so granted is not something I would deny, nor should any man question or aim to," the King declared. "I approve of your suit Aramis, and openly welcome your love at court."

Aramis closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Christine ran from the balcony and down the stairs. He rose just in time as she flung herself into his arms. He gathered her up, and in the presence of God, the King and Queen, his brothers, Treville, the townspeople and all the nobility assembled, he kissed her. And she kissed him back.

oOo

The tournament had ended and the nobility withdrew. The King and Queen prepared for their exodus as well. Aramis sat in the parlour just off the entranceway leaning his head back against the chair. His eyes were closed but his smile lit his whole face as he recalled every word the King had said and the look on Christine's face as they were granted permission to be together.

He was startled when the King himself entered the room. Aramis hastened to rise and bow to his monarch, but the King waved him down and clapping a hand on his shoulder he took a seat next to the marksman and smiled.

"Your majesty," Aramis began, "Again, I cannot begin to thank you enough for everything. I am truly blessed to be in your service."

The King smiled magnanimously. "You know," he said slyly, "You could have approached me ages ago. I was well aware of your love affair," he said, mischief present in his eyes.

"But the tournament..." Aramis began, a little shocked by the King's confession.

"I needed you both to prove to me the truth of your love…but I also thought you needed to prove your own validity to yourself at court. This way, coupled with my public acceptance of your love, no man may dare protest it. She is one of my favourites, you know."

"Your Majesty is very wise," said Aramis, shocked. "But what if I had lost? Or not competed?"

"Then you wouldn't have deserved her. I too know the deep passion that a man has for a woman. I knew that you would stop at nothing to protect her. It was obvious from the way you tended her when she fell. You would risk everything for her. If you loved her, you would ensure that only you would earn her kiss," the King said gleefully.

"And it was a fun competition," he said, off-handedly. "As I understand it, the new bell for the church in town should be arriving in ten days. The Comtesse is due to return to Paris upon its installation. I have spoken to Treville and have assigned you to supervise the installation and to escort Christine on her return to Paris," said Louis rising.

"That is most generous of you, my King," Aramis stammered.

"It really is," said the King regally as he swept from the room with a flick of his gold brocade cape.

ooooooooooooooooo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for tuning into this and thanks, as always for your reviews, PMs, favourites and follows. It's wicked knowing that people are enjoying these little adventures as much as I'm enjoying writing them! Until next time!**_


	39. The Loss, Ch 1

_**A/N: Happy 2019 everyone! Here's my next "episode" of this series. Hope you enjoy it! As always I look forward to your feedback, reviews and PMs! :)**_

* * *

The Loss

Chapter 1

The sun was streaming into the garrison practice yard. It was hot, and Aramis and D'Artagnan circled in the ring, swords drawn. D'Artagnan was limping slightly, still stiff from an injury that had kept him bedridden for several weeks. Aramis walked him through some strengthening exercises before relenting and engaging him in a light spar.

Christine sat by the table watching.

"Argh!" D'Artagnan cried as he stumbled and fell to the dirt floor strewn with fresh straw. Aramis ran forward immediately to help his brother up.

"Enough," he said, as he led a frustrated D'Artagnan to the table. Christine poured him a glass of water.

"You're making very good progress," Aramis remarked, "But you shouldn't push yourself too far too quickly. The muscles in your leg still require time to recover. In time you will regain your strength and balance."

D'Artagnan scowled. "How can you be sure when I can't even perform this simple sequence?"

"The problem is you're looking to replicate Athos instead of focusing on the parts of the sequence itself," said Christine, rising and picking up a rapier. She gestured to the practice ring and Aramis smiled at her as he took his position. This was one of the things that drove him mad about Christine – she was fearless and brilliant – the fact that she was kind, generous and beautiful were all just added bonuses.

She brandished her rapier and engaged Aramis with the sword. "In this exchange," she said amid the sword strokes, "Athos tends to plant his foot in order to pivot," she said, demonstrating Athos' sequence of attacks perfectly before drawing away.

Looking at D'Artagnan, she continued with the lesson. "You are lither than Athos, lighter too. Instead of a hard plant and pivot, use your speed," she said. She replicated the same sequence, but this time she introduced a quick ball-change instead of planting her foot. "By doing this instead to pivot, it'll be easier on your leg and you can cut the angle more quickly to gain the advantage," she said, as she stepped past Aramis' defenses bringing the blade to rest at his neck. Aramis grinned at her as she held him captive.

"What's this? A lovers' quarrel?" asked Cornet grinning as he entered the garrison courtyard.

Aramis laughed as he straightened and Christine lifted her sword to return to the table.

"You know, if you were to run him through, no one would blame you," the gregarious blonde man said with a wink. Christine laughed and smiled at him as she poured herself a glass of water. She liked Cornet. He and Aramis had a fun, competitive friendship forged in long years of fighting together. He teased Christine and constantly threatened Aramis that one day he would steal her away from him.

"You would like that, wouldn't you Cornet? Perhaps without my presence, you might be considered a more dashing figure," Aramis replied with a grin.

"You weren't assigned duty today," D'Artagnan said, smiling at the familiar banter. "Are you searching for something to fill your hours? I hear Serge could always use an extra hand…"

Cornet grinned at the younger man. "I'm actually seeking sanctuary at the moment. Let's just say I was visiting a sweetheart, when a mistress arrived. Situation wasn't made much better by the addition of her husband either," he said and the three men roared.

"I take it that cut to your cheek is from the husband?" Christine asked with a smirk.

"The mistress," Cornet replied. "The blow to the gut came from the sweetheart. I figured it was best to flee to the safety and security of an armoury with my life and body still intact."

"Serves you right," scolded Christine.

"Come now, my Lady, we can't all be as fortunate as Aramis to have somehow miraculously been blessed by your smiles," he said bowing to her and kissing her hand.

She laughed and Aramis stood with a grin. Withdrawing her hand from that of his friend's, Aramis stepped behind her and defensively wrapped his arms around Christine.

"D'Artagnan, if I'm ever found poisoned or stabbed in the back within the garrison, search Cornet's rooms immediately," he said smirking.

"Same," replied Cornet with an equal grin. "I always forget how much Aramis dislikes to compete for affection."

"Ha!" laughed Aramis, "As if there ever was any competition," he said. He kissed Christine's neck, and they all rolled their eyes, laughing.

Extricating herself from Aramis' arms, the four sat at the usual table.

"Where are Adam, Francois and Bernard this morning?" D'Artagnan asked. It was typical of Treville to send his men out in groups of four, so it was odd that Cornet should not be assigned to whatever duties the others were.

Cornet shrugged. "I believe they're on parade duty with Athos and Porthos. Frankly, I think I'd rather take my chances with a scorned lover than stand at attention at the palace all morning."

"Or two," grinned Aramis knowingly. Christine jostled him with her elbow, her eyebrow raised as she gave him an annoyed glare. His mouth fell open and he swallowed thickly, realizing the trap he had fallen into.

Cornet and D'Artagnan laughed as D'Artagnan pushed the rapier a little further from Christine's reach.

"Just in case this apology doesn't go well," he said with a grin.

Christine's eyes flashed at Aramis. "Well?" she said, "We're waiting…"

Cornet and D'Artagnan leant forward with goofy, expectant grins.

Aramis stood dramatically with a hand over his heart. "Whatever happened to brotherhood?" he asked.

"We've all seen the way Christine can wield a rapier," said D'Artagnan.

"Would saying that these relationships were only ever physical help?" Aramis asked meekly.

"Only if you want ours to become vestal," she said rising and crossing her arms with that fire in her grey eyes again that drove him crazy – wit and challenge and adventure.

He grasped her hand suddenly and pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply. The other men grinned as she lifted her hands to his neck. There was nothing better for them than seeing a brother happy.

"That's not always going to work," she said breathlessly as she drew back slightly.

"It's served me well so far," he said, kissing her again as the others groaned. Aramis would always be Aramis.

Suddenly an explosion tore through the air. The lovers broke apart, but Aramis kept his arms around her protectively. D'Artagnan and Cornet leapt to their feet.

"That sounded close," said Cornet with a knowing look at Aramis. He had been a musketeer for nearly as long as Aramis and the pair had fought many battles together. They were both very familiar with the sound of exploding black powder.

"There," said Aramis, pointing above the rooftops, "Smoke."

"Looks like it's coming from the marketplace," said D'Artagnan.

"It's market day," Christine whispered. She pushed Aramis away. "Go," she said. "I'll prepare the infirmary."

D'Artagnan and Cornet took off out of the garrison. Aramis hesitated for only a moment. He turned back to her and kissed her again.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too. Come back to me," she replied, and he took off after the others.

oOo


	40. The Loss, Ch 2

The Loss

Chapter 2

Christine found Etienne already working to prepare the infirmary. Two large pots were boiling and she threw a mixture of herbs into a large kettle to steep. Another combination she threw in another large pot while Etienne prepared the bandages and bathed the instruments.

"How many do you think?" she asked him as she tied back her hair and fastened an apron around her.

"Not sure," Etienne said. "It was large though. I ran as fast as I could to set up. I think the first are returning," he said.

The two medics locked eyes and nodded to each other as they prepared for the worst.

Porthos arrived first, carrying a young woman. She was strikingly pale, save for the splash of scarlet that ran down her face from a cut to her forehead. Her arm was bent at an awkward angle.

He laid her on the first bed and Christine checked her over.

"Porthos, what happened?" she asked as she examined the woman.

"Dunno," he said. "We was crossin' the market, returnin' from the palace when suddenly a vendor's cart erupted. There are four for sure dead. The vendor, two men and a woman."

Christine nodded. "Etienne, she's unconscious. Her arm is broken. Let's set it and splint it before she comes to. The cut is minor, no stitches needed," she said as Etienne got to work.

"Anyone else injured?" she asked.

"I can't say. There was blood everywhere. Athos was hit by some debris. He was bleeding but Aramis saw to it right away. Oy!" he shouted as he made a beeline for the door.

A cart had pulled up. Athos leapt down and staggered slightly. Francois and D'Artagnan drove the cart. D'Artagnan leapt down from his seat, grimacing slightly and helped an older man into the infirmary, a cloth pressed tightly to his forehead. The man was dazed, but conscious.

"Head wound," D'Artagnan said. "Aramis says it needs stitching."

"Let Etienne know. Keep the pressure on until he can tackle it," she said, running forward to Athos' side as he lifted a young boy into his arms.

Porthos reached him first and took the boy from Athos who swayed slightly. Blood could be seen leaking through the bandages tied on his left arm and leg. Ash dusted his doublet and hair. Francois went to Athos' side to help him to the infirmary.

"Athos! The boy!" Christine called.

"He was with the debris from the explosion. He's unconscious. Adam tried to shield him from the worst of it."

At these words, Christine's heart dropped to her feet.

"Adam," she whispered as sounds of another cart could be heard roaring towards the Garrison.

The stable hands struggled to control the panting horses as Bernard leapt wildly from the seat out front.

"Go!" said Athos, releasing Francois. Christine took his place under Athos' arm and began helping him towards the infirmary. Porthos emerged just as Aramis shouted, "Christine!" in a wild and desperate manner that sent ice water down her spine.

"I got him," said Porthos. Athos had lost a lot of blood from the wound to his leg and was fading but still struggling to control the chaos of the situation. Treville and many of the other musketeers must have still been at the palace. Porthos put his arm around the lieutenant and Christine ran towards the last cart.

What she saw confirmed her fears.

Aramis was kneeling at Adam's side, covered in blood, which poured freely from several wounds. "Help keep the pressure on. The wounds are large and there are many," he said tersely as he continued with the pressure that he was applying to the musketeer's torso. Francois and Bernard stepped awkwardly around them, as the pair tried to staunch the bleeding, and lifted the young musketeer from the cart.

oOo

The infirmary was chaos.

Etienne had tended the young woman and the older gentleman with the head wound. He was now examining the young boy gravely. D'Artagnan had set more water to boil and brew while Porthos kept a hand on Athos to keep him seated.

Francois and Bernard deposited Adam onto a table and stood awkwardly around, not willing to leave their brother.

A bowl clattered to the ground and someone swore.

"Everybody out!" shouted Treville appearing suddenly in the doorway. "Everyone but you three!" he said to Etienne, Christine and Aramis.

"But Adam – ," Bernard began desperately.

Treville cut him off. "If we want to give him the best chance he's got, we need to let them work! Now, out! Everyone!"

Treville's glare managed to overpower everyone, including the desperate Bernard and the stubborn Gascon.

"Etienne, the others," Christine said distractedly as she and Aramis began stripping Adam of his doublet.

"I'm on it," he replied brusquely as he returned to the unconscious boy.

Etienne could feel the broken ribs that ran along the boy's torso, and the large lump that was on the side of his head, the results of either the blast or its debris. A dark bruise had formed at the boy's temple. There was nothing Etienne could do as the boy's laboured breathing lessened. He stroked the boy's hair as his chest stilled. Etienne bit back a sob, and then covered the boy with a sheet. Bodies at times of war were one thing. This child was innocent.

He stepped away from the boy, now at rest, and focused his attention on Athos, grief and anger filling his eyes.

oOo

Once they had removed his shirt, Christine smothered a gasp at the extent of Adam's injuries. His torso was littered with puncture wounds and splinters of wood. His lower right side was still impaled upon a large metal barb. There was blood everywhere.

"Dear god, what happened?" Aramis cried out.

"A cart…exploded," muttered Athos weakly through gritted teeth as Etienne doused the wound in his leg with alcohol. "Saved the boy."

Christine had begun cleaning as much of the blood off Adam's body as possible.

"Is the surgeon coming?" Aramis shouted as he continued to apply pressure.

"He's been sent for," said Treville as he stared at Adam's body.

"Ar'mis," Adam muttered, blood speckling his lips as he exhaled.

"Adam!" cried the medic as he shifted his position to lean closer to the injured man.

"Was no accident…the cart…heard the shot…the boy…" he muttered.

Christine looked up and saw where the child had been laid, the tell-tale sheet covering his corpse. She looked at Etienne who shook his head.

"He's fine, you've saved him, Adam. You're a hero," she lied encouragingly, fighting back her tears.

Adam nodded slightly and then stilled again, overcome by the pain.

"What did he say?" Treville asked.

"He said the explosion wasn't an accident. A shot was fired which must have triggered it," Aramis said distractedly. "Where is the damn surgeon?!"

"Aramis," said Christine urgently. "We need to remove this barb from his side." She was pale as a ghost.

He shook his head. "We can't…If we remove it – " Aramis began, his brow wrinkled in worry.

"I know," she said. "But if we don't…"

Aramis looked to Treville. The older man nodded grimly. "Do it," he said. "Whatever you can."

The infirmary door burst open as a frenzied Bernard pulled the surgeon into the room. He stopped dead when he saw Adam's body.

"Bernard! Come with me. Let the surgeon work!" Treville said as he pushed Bernard from the room.

The surgeon approached the table and rolled up his sleeves. He surveyed the injuries and looked at the three medics gathered and shook his head gravely.

"There's nothing we can do."

"No," growled Etienne. "You must do something!"

The surgeon sighed. "I can remove the intrusion, but I'm afraid that the damage done to his organs may be irreparable."

"We've got to try," Christine cried. "Please, we've got to try. We have to do something."

"Alright," said the surgeon looking into her frightened and desperate grey eyes, "But do not trust to hope. Prepare the compresses," he said to Christine gently. "I'll need you to hold him," he said to Etienne, as he removed his instruments from his bag and washed his hands.

oOo


	41. The Loss, Ch 3

The Loss

Chapter 3

The hours seemed to drag by as Treville and his men sat, stood or paced outside the infirmary door.

Finally, it opened, and the surgeon exited the room. The exhaustion was evident on his face. He smiled grimly at the men that were waiting on tenterhooks for him to speak.

"What's the prognosis Doctor?" Treville asked finally when words seemed to have escaped the surgeon under the desperate eyes of so many armed soldiers.

Swallowing thickly, the surgeon began to speak. "Your man was gravely injured during the explosion. I was told he used his body to shield a young boy from the blast. Unfortunately, his actions were for naught. I have learned that the boy has succumbed to his injuries," he said sadly.

D'Artagnan gasped, and Porthos swore and bit his fist to suppress his sorrow.

The surgeon continued, "Your musketeer took the brunt of the flying debris. He was impaled by a large metal barb that punctured his lower side. We managed to remove the barb, but I'm afraid with the damage done to his vitals, coupled with the amount of blood lost and whatever other damages he sustained following the explosion…it is unlikely…that he will pull through. I would suggest you make him as comfortable as possible and prepare your goodbyes," he said.

"No," said Bernard hollowly. "No! This can't be," he said pushing forward and grabbing the surgeon by his shirtfront. "Get in there and make him well! You can't! You can't just…take him from us!"

Treville and Porthos both put a hand on Bernard's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," said the doctor, placing his hands on the musketeer's wrists and gently extricating himself from the grip. "Truly I am. I know the service you provide your country and the brotherhood that exists among you, but there is nothing more that I can do. I wish there was. I am truly sorry," he said.

All the soldiers gathered could read the sincerity in the surgeon's eyes.

"We moved him to the far room to allow him some privacy."

"Thank you," said Treville, dismissing the surgeon.

Slowly, Treville entered the infirmary.

oOo

The first thing they saw was Christine leaning against the windowsill. She was covered in blood; the apron she had worn was nearly entirely scarlet. Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest and she held her head in her hand as Aramis stood next to her and tried to bring her comfort. Etienne was checking the other patients. Athos was pale, and drawn having been witness but helpless throughout Adam's surgery. Porthos went to his side immediately.

Treville approached Etienne and asked for a status update on the other patients. Etienne mumbled to Treville, and on the Captain's command, Francois stepped forward. More quiet words were exchanged and Francois approached the table where the young boy lay covered. He left the room carrying the lad with Etienne following slowly behind, joined by Cornet who had arrived with the remains of the other victims of the explosion. Francois fought his tears as he carried the still child.

Bernard stood on the threshold of the infirmary. Christine looked up and they made eye contact. She rose as he made his way trance-like towards her. His outstretched hands met hers and she led him into the back room where Adam lay, his breathing shallow.

Running his hand through his hair, Aramis approached his captain.

Treville took in the marksman's full appearance. Grief, pain and anger burned in his eyes. His shirtsleeves were soaked to his elbows in blood, which had begun to stiffen. He looked tired, but Treville knew that there would be no sleep for Aramis that night, not while a brother clung to life.

"Captain," he said and swayed slightly.

"Sit," said Treville.

"I'm fine," Aramis replied curtly. "Tell me what you've learned."

Treville sighed. He had known Aramis for most of the man's life, so he ignored his impetuousness in situations like these.

"We know that four people were killed in the blast –"

"- five," Christine corrected as she joined them, putting an arm around Aramis' waist to steady him.

Treville nodded. "Five," he admitted. "One was the vendor of the cart, the other two were another vendor and his wife. The fourth was a nobleman who was apparently a frequent visitor to the stall. The fifth was…the boy," he said sadly, his grim face growing even grimmer.

"Were they able to apprehend the shooter?" Aramis asked.

Treville shook his head. "No, not yet. We need to further examine the crime scene. Perhaps if we can determine the shooter's positioning, we might find a clue about who this madman is."

"I'll go," said Aramis.

"And me," said D'Artagnan who had been hanging back. D'Artagnan and Adam had been very close. They were the two youngest members of the musketeers, and so had bonded easily when D'Artagnan had joined the regiment. The level of pain that showed on D'Artagnan's face in that moment was matched by the fire in his eyes.

Treville nodded. "Change your clothes first, and be safe. The shooter might still be out there. Hurry back," he said as he looked towards the room where Bernard sat next to Adam, his shoulders heaving under his silent sobs.

Aramis nodded. "The injuries…" he said, "This will be slow. I've prepared several pain draughts. Give him whatever he needs."

Treville nodded and moved towards Bernard.

Aramis looked at Christine, "You should return home to change," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I don't want to leave him," her grey eyes shining like the rain.

Aramis nodded, taking her face in his hand. "I'll have someone send for Marie to bring you a new dress. You can sit by Athos for the time being. He will need to be brought up to speed. I'd ask you to try to rest…"

"…but you know me well enough to know better," she said with a sad smile. He kissed her softly and turned to leave the room. D'Artagnan was already prepping the horses.

oOo


	42. The Loss, Ch 4

The Loss

Chapter 4

Marie arrived at the Garrison with a clean dress and a few more of the simple dresses Christine preferred over her courtly gowns when working on her estate in the country or in the infirmary. She stowed them in Aramis' quarters.

"Just in case," she said, with a sad smile at her mistress.

A bath had been brought into Aramis' large room and Christine bathed quickly, washing the blood from her body. She looked around the room as she dressed.

Aramis, like most of the musketeers, maintained apartments outside of the garrison. As a founding member of the Musketeers and because he was often kept late in the infirmary caring for his patients, Aramis had maintained his room here as well.

A large bed stood in the corner with a table and four chairs opposite. A chest was at the foot of the bed on top of a rich but well-worn rug. A simple wooden cross was hung on the wall while a few books of poetry, anatomy and herb lore stood on the shelf in the corner next to a simple wood cabinet. On the side table next to his bed sat a candlestick, a bible and a ribbon Christine recognized from her own hair. A dry iris sat on the windowsill. Its papery petals still retained the blue vibrancy from the day Christine had pinned it to the musketeer's lapel so many months and ages before.

She took in the simple comforts of the room and smiled. How similar they were in some ways – they both had a simpler life they cherished outside of the trappings of court.

His prized treasures – her hair ribbon and the iris among them – warmed her heart, even in situations like these. She crossed herself and said a quick prayer as she shut the door, taking more solace from her brief time in that room than she thought possible. She steadied herself and returned to the infirmary.

oOo

Aramis and D'Artagnan had just returned as Christine was carrying a water pitcher to Adam's room.

"I'll bring it to him," D'Artagnan said sadly. She reached out and touched his cheek and smiled sadly at him.

D'Artagnan looked into her eyes, and returned her small sad smile. In the time that Christine had been in Paris, it was remarkable how close she had become to all of them; if anything were to happen to her or his brothers, D'Artagnan knew he would be inconsolable. With that thought in mind, he entered Adam's room, to bid goodbye to his friend and comfort his grieving brother.

"What did you find?" said Athos from his bed Porthos had returned him to once they had paid their respects to Adam. These men were all soldiers of war. They knew that with an injury like this, it was only a matter of time.

Aramis ignored the question as he began to examine Athos' bandages. Athos' swatted him away.

"I'm fine," he said, "Now for god's sake, sit down, eat something and tell me what you know before you end up in the bed next to me."

Aramis sighed. "The shooter was a marksman – an assassin I believe. I found his perch on the building across from the damage. There was a notch on the roof where he had rested his weapon as it fired. He must have been waiting for hours – days maybe, waiting for his target. It was an incredible shot."

"Days?" said Porthos in disbelief.

"What makes you say an assassin?" Christine asked as she handed him a mug of broth. He smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze as he took it from her.

"One of these victims is not like the others," he said, taking a sip of the broth. "Cornet is looking into the identity of the nobleman who was killed by the blast. It seems as though a bomb had been tacked to the underside of the merchant's cart. It was triggered by the bullet. The merchant, his customers and the boy were all collateral damage."

"I surmised as much," Athos said, shaking his head.

"All those people! All that damage! For one man?" Porthos again exclaimed incredulously.

"It's not just that," said Athos. "Usually an assassin is trained to kill and disappear, typically employing artifice and subtly, but this one triggered a bomb. He showed a complete disregard for French lives."

"He's confident," said Christine. "He thinks he won't be caught."

"Which means he's murdered before," Athos said.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. "There was one thing, might be a bit of a lead. The man was a smoker. He left his tobacco pouch by his mark," he said, passing a small leather pouch to Porthos.

Porthos took a sniff of the substance within it and grimaced.

"Might know where you can find this," he said. "There's only one man I know that sells it. Brings it in from England via Le Havre. It's the good stuff, which means this man's got coin."

"Good," Athos said. "Porthos, see if you can find any information from this vendor. Take D'Artagnan with you. No one rides alone. We want this man found and punished."

Porthos nodded and rose as D'Artagnan entered the room hastily wiping tears from his eyes.

"You've got something?" he asked, the angry and determined fire still burning in the Gascon's eyes in spite of the threat of more tears.

"I'll explain on the way," said Porthos.

"Wait," said Christine rushing over to D'Artagnan. "You haven't eaten all day. I know this is hard, but you are just coming off an injury yourself. You need to eat something to keep your energy up. Both of you." She tore a loaf of bread from a tray in half and handed it to the Gascon, the other half to Porthos. "Please," she said imploringly. They took the bread and nodded. She let out a small sigh of relief as the two men left the infirmary.

oOo


	43. The Loss, Ch 5

_**A/N: Thanks for all your amazing support for this story! I'm sorry, but the sadness is going to continue for just a bit longer. Get your tissues ready...**_

* * *

The Loss

Chapter 5

The air was tense in the garrison as the men waited for the news from the infirmary.

Christine sat in the chair next to Adam's bed and gently brushed the hair from his face. His body was covered in a cold sweat despite the number of blankets that had been placed upon him. Bernard sat on the other side grasping his brother's hand. Aramis stood against the doorway, his rosary in hand, silently reciting prayers for the man; Cornet and Francois stood silently next to him.

Adam had come around a few times as his various brothers had come in to pay their respects. His eyes were half-open now and a calmness clung to him. He knew the end was near, but he was prepared now; he was surrounded by loved ones.

"Christine," he muttered as he turned to look at her, his eyes fluttering as they tried to focus. His breathing had become more laboured.

"I'm here," she said as her hands continued to comfort the young man.

"I'm glad," he said. "I'm glad you're with me. I'm grateful to see your face one last time," he said. "I'm lucky…to have had your friendship. I love you Christine. Be happy, my friend."

Christine squeezed his arm and nodded through her tears that had begun to fall. "And I love you, my friend. We'll meet again," she whispered and smiled at him, her eyes burning through the tears.

"Not too soon, I hope,' he said, with a slight chuckle that turned into a cough. Blood speckled his lips as he coughed.

"Aramis," Adam said, "Thank you for all you did."

"Adam, I –"

Adam shook his head slightly. "You did all you could. Thank you. Please, give my love to D'Artagnan, and the Captain. I know you and your brothers will find whoever's responsible," he said, and coughed again. "Promise me you'll take care of her. Promise me you'll keep her safe. Promise me you'll make her happy."

"I swear," Aramis said. Adam nodded.

"Brothers," he said next, looking at Francois and Cornet. "I'm afraid our journey has ended. Watch over each other, and I will watch over you, always. Your love, our brotherhood has meant everything."

Francois choked down a sob and Cornet put his arm around his shoulders. His own tears fell silently. He searched for some word of comfort for his brother, but for once the man was lost for words. He smiled at his brother as broadly as he could muster and gave him a wink. Adam took in all the meaning in that simple gesture and his eyes began to droop as he took a deep and painful breath, but he maintained the smile on his face.

"Bernard," he said, turning finally to the musketeer still desperately gripping his hand.

"Shush," he said. "There's no need. You don't have to –"

Adam gave a soft laugh. "Still trying to take care of me," he said and smiled at the man though his eyes were nearly closed.

"I love you brother," Bernard whispered.

"I know," said Adam, his voice barely discernible now. "I love you too. You need to be strong now, as you always are. You and Fran and Cornet will need to look after each other now. One day, you'll meet a fourth. Be to him as you were to me: a friend, a mentor, and a brother. You were the best of brothers a man could ask for. Keep your hearts open, my friends."

"All for one," Bernard whispered.

"And one for all," Cornet and Francois echoed.

Adam smiled once more at all those gathered around him. He drew a deep breath, his hand giving Bernard's one more slight squeeze. His eyes drew closed and he was gone.

Bernard shuddered and began to sob, unable to hold in his pain any longer.

Francois turned into Cornet, weeping openly on his shoulder while the man wrapped him in a protective embrace and whispered words of comfort.

Christine rose silently. Brushing the hair from Adam's face one last time, she bent over the body of her friend, and as her tears dropped onto his cheeks, she kissed him.

She sobbed as Aramis stepped forward; she curled into his side and wept into his chest. Aramis placed his right hand over Adam's brow, and making the sign of the cross, he blessed him.

"Rest now brother. Your service has ended," he whispered.

oOo

Christine and Aramis withdrew from the room, allowing the three brothers to grieve together. Stepping into the main room of the infirmary, they were greeted by the bright eyes of Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan.

Christine was still pressed to his side her eyes cast down, but Aramis' eyes burned back at his brothers. Each man could sympathize with the pain the three men in that room must now endure. In their silent language they once again swore to defend, love and protect each other and the ones they loved until the end. Aramis silently thanked God for these three men and the woman at his side.

"You should let Treville know," he said as he made his way to the infirmary door. Porthos nodded.

Aramis exited, leading Christine away from the infirmary. His sad eyes met those of the men waiting in the hallway. A few audible sobs cut through the quiet at the look on the medic's face. Treville's sharp eyes caught his; Aramis just nodded sadly as he led Christine to his chambers and Treville slowly entered the infirmary.

oOo

A still and heavy night had fallen over the garrison. Aramis and Christine lay in his bed in his garrison quarteers just holding and comforting each other. They made love that night, their bodies pledging their lives to each other, expressing their pain and their joy at being alive and secure in their love. They held each other close, their hearts pressed against each other, both savouring the steady thumps that echoed the words, "I swear".

oOo


	44. The Loss, Ch 6

_**A/N: Thanks for sticking with this and thanks for your kinds words. I really appreciate everyone who's taking the time to both read this or drop me a note to share their thoughts! Cheers!**_

* * *

The Loss

Chapter 6

The four musketeers stood before Treville the next day, faces drawn and grim, but determined. Porthos had found a lead at the tobacconist's.

"They call the assassin Ramero. Rumour has it he was a pirate on a Spanish vessel before coming to France," Porthos said.

"That explains his use of gun powder," Aramis muttered.

"Do we have an address for this man?" Trevilled asked.

Porthos scowled. "'parently he likes to move around a lot. Smart really, in his line of work. There's a tavern he visits often by the Court – place called Le Font D'Ors."

"Cheapside?" asked D'Artagnan. "I thought you said this man would be wealthy."

"He most likely is. It's probable that he chooses a setting like that to meet clients because it's unlikely that they'd run into any authorities. It also brings his clients to his level and proves they can be depended on to pay him," said Athos.

"Smart man," said Aramis.

Treville nodded. "Alright, find him," he said. "He will pay grievously for the lives he took. But be careful. I'll not allow him to take another from our ranks." The four musketeers nodded stonily and marched from Treville's office.

As they reached their horses that had been saddled in the courtyard, Christine emerged from her carriage. She had gone home to change her dress and was now wearing a dark mourning gown.

Aramis approached her and informed her of their lead.

"Don't worry," he said as he cupped her face.

"How can I not?" she asked, her troubled eyes searching his. "Please, be careful. This man is dangerous. You've all admitted that he has no regard for collateral damage or human life. What is to stop him from blowing up the entire tavern with everyone in it."

"We will not be unaware this time," Aramis said. "And this assassin is vain. He waited for his target in the open. He values his own life too much to risk injury. It's notoriety he's after. It helps draw his price up. Trust me, my love, he will not be willing to sacrifice himself no matter the circumstances."

Christine sighed and drew him into an embrace. "Please, just promise me you'll come back to me. All of you. They are my family too, Aramis."

"Always, mi tesora, always. Te amo con todo mi corazón," he said, and kissed her firmly. She held him tightly for a moment before he mounted his horse and rode through the garrison gates.

She inhaled deeply as she watched them leave. "y te amo mi tesoro," she whispered.

oOo

It was with a heavy heart that Christine entered the infirmary. The room had been cleaned, but Adam's body she knew was lying in the back room awaiting its final preparations.

She wasn't surprised to find Bernard still sitting there. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her weakly.

"I keep expecting him to wake," he said miserably.

"I know," she said. "I'm waiting to see him smile again…perhaps one day, we might," she said and gave the man a slight squeeze.

They were silent for a few moments as they looked on their still friend.

"Adam has a sister, in town? Has she been told?" she asked finally.

"Yes," said Bernard, "And a nephew, about six. The husband died a few years ago after a hard winter. Her name's Annette."

"I should like to pay my respects. Will you take me to her?" she asked in a small voice.

Bernard nodded. "We should ask her what she'd like us to do with the body. I'd think he'd want to rest with his brothers-in-arms, but as his family, it's for Annette to decide."

Christine nodded. "I will tell Treville; my carriage is just at the gates," she said.

oOo

Leaving Treville's office, Christine passed a sack of coins to Bernard.

"Adam had left his pension in her name. It would be best if you awarded it to her. It may help comfort her," she said. Bernard nodded gravely. It was hard to see the normally lively musketeer so withdrawn into his grief, but Christine was there to comfort him. She exhaled a bit when he offered her a small smile.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate it," he said as they climbed into the carriage.

They rolled to a stop outside of a small home on a quiet street of Paris. A pretty woman hanging laundry on the line stopped as she saw the carriage approach. Christine knew her instantly. She had Adam's same clear green eyes and pointed nose.

The woman smiled sadly as she saw Bernard approach. He took her into his arms and she closed her eyes when he held her. Stepping back, she gestured for Christine and Bernard to follow her inside.

They sat around the table and she prepared a strong pot of tea.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I figured it might be too early for you for wine," her lips quirking into a small smile which quickly faded.

"It's perfect," said Christine, offering the woman a small smile of her own.

They sat in silence for a moment, looking awkwardly at their cups.

"So Bernard," said the woman finally, "Are you going to tell me who this lovely lady is that you're bringing into my home?" her eyes flashed slightly.

"Oh!" said Bernard, "I'm sorry, I haven't made introductions…"

Christine smiled warmly and extended her hand to the other woman. "My name is Christine."

"I'm Annette," she said, also smiling. "I knew Adam was in love. I didn't think you'd be a lady or as beautiful as he said though. Men in love tend to exaggerate," she said.

Christine blushed deeply.

Bernard looked awkwardly between the two women.

"Christine is the Comtesse des Etoiles, and a good friend of the Musketeers."

"Adam was a good friend to me," Christine corrected. "I work within the garrison's infirmary…I was one of those with him when he died," she said softly, her eyes clouding over.

Annette smiled softly. "Forgive me," she said, "I have upset you."

"It's nothing," she responded, wiping hastily at her eyes.

"No, I can tell he was dear to you, even if the extent of his feelings weren't returned."

Christine gave the woman another small smile. "You have a beautiful home," she said changing the subject.

"Thank you," Annette said. "My husband was a draper. I've managed to retain the shop. Adam sent money when he could," she said, finishing softly looking around her warm clean kitchen. A young boy of about six ran to his mother and whispered in her ear. Bernard winked at the boy, who winked back.

"My son, Julien," Annette said.

"Annette," said Bernard softly, "I want you to know you won't have to worry. You'll receive Adam's pension, and I'll be around if you ever need anything. Anything," he repeated firmly. They locked eyes for a moment, and Christine's suspicions were confirmed. The two were in love.

"I'd like to do my part as well," Christine said, interrupting softly. "I know that it's difficult to raise a child on your own. If you'll let me, I'd like to pay for Julien's education in Adam's memory. He can learn a trade or study medicine. Anything he wants to be. I'll provide an allowance for his food and clothing as well. He'll want for nothing," she said. "Your brother, Adam, was one of the kindest and bravest men I have known. Please, let me honour his memory in this way. He sacrificed himself in order to save a young boy. Anything your son wants to be, I will provide for."

Annette sighed sadly. "All he wants to be is a musketeer, like his uncle. Thank you Comtesse, that is very generous."

"Christine, please," she said, with another small smile. Annette smiled back.

The rest of the morning passed pleasantly. Bernard told Julien amusing stories of his uncle, and Annette recalled tales of their childhood.

As Christine made to board her carriage she whispered to Bernard, "Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to keep Annette company. It would be good for her to be around those that she loves," she said pointedly.

Bernard's eyes widened.

"I uh…I'm not sure I…" he stammered to the ground, the musketeer turning bright red.

"She loves you Bernard, and she is hurting. You both are. Stay. Comfort each other. My father used to say that it is only through love that we can conquer loss," she said smiling at him.

He gave her a bashful smile back and helped her into the carriage. She leant out the window and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you later," she whispered, a knowing and mischievous look on her face as her carriage pulled away.

oOo


	45. The Loss, Ch 7

The Loss

Chapter 7

The midday sun was streaming down on the streets of Paris when the musketeers came upon the only part of the city miraculously not brightened by the sunshine. They had left their horses at a reputable inn they knew well after exchanging a few coins with the innkeeper. It was not a good idea to bring their mounts into this part of the city where the hungry and the desperate would not hesitate to steal a musketeer's horse.

They entered Le Font D'Ors, Athos leading, Porthos at the rear. Little particles of dust could be seen floating in from the slight rays of light that made it through the shuttered windows.

"Two exits," Aramis muttered as he scoped the place out.

"We've got eyes on us from the right by the fire," said Porthos.

"And at that back table on the left," D'Artagnan whispered.

"That's our man," Aramis whispered. "If there's a sharpshooter in this room that's him. That's where I'd be. Clear visuals of both doors and a wall to my back."

Athos nodded and made for the table. The men at the fire watched them approach. All others kept their eyes down but their ears open. Clearly, secrets and their trade had value in this establishment.

"Bienvenido hermano," the man said smiling, his eyes locking on Aramis as the men approached. "Tengan un asiento," he said, smiling broadly and indicating the chairs around the table. The others looked at Aramis who nodded.

"¿Como puedo ayudarte? How can I help you?" said the man.

"You can start by speaking French," Porthos growled.

The Spanish assassin beamed at him. The man was dressed in a dark coat, which even a farm boy like D'Artagnan recognized to be made of very expensive material. The red silk shirt that was visible at the man's throat and wrists dripped of opulence. His dark hair was slicked back with grease. In many ways he looked like he could be Aramis' villainous brother – handsome, dangerous and cunning.

"Perdóname," he said, "but it's rare for me to meet another Spaniard on friendly terms here in Paris." Aramis bit his cheek to control his anger.

"Perhaps you are unaware of why we're here then," Athos said coldly. "Are you the man they call Ramero?"

"I am he," he said, leaning back and taking a sip of his wine.

"The murderer Ramero?"

"It seems as though my reputation precedes me. Though I'm not sure what you mean by murder," he said with a mocking grin.

"Oh ya, and what would you call it then?" asked Porthos.

"Customer service?" suggested the man, causing Porthos to growl again. He and D'Artagnan stood behind the chairs Athos and Aramis occupied. D'Artagnan was tense. His hand rested on his rapier as he kept his eyes on the men gathered by the fireplace.

"I believe we have different understandings of the term," said Athos.

"Come now mi hermanos, you kill people for money, do you not?"

"Don't," said D'Artagnan roughly. "Don't try to pretend what you do is comparable to our service to the King."

"How many men have you killed for your King, little one?" the man said, still grinning. "What is one less nobleman in the grand scheme of things?"

Aramis slammed his first down on the table.

"Six people are dead because of your actions, and several others seriously injured. One of those you killed was our brother. You will answer for all of those lives," he said, cold fury in his voice.

"Tell me, hermano," he said, his dark eyes glistening, challenging Aramis. "Why did you pledge your allegiance to this French King. I have no King, I serve only his coin. I can see the blood of my people both on your hands and in your veins. ¿Cómo somos diferentes?"

"¡Suficiente!"Aramis shouted as he upended the table and drew his pistol on the man. The men at the fire all drew their swords. "I do not kill the innocent. You will stand trial for their lives you stole and you will hang."

All at once chaos broke loose.

The men at the fireplace quickly engaged the musketeers.

Porthos grasped the man nearest to him and threw him bodily over the table. Athos drew his rapier and battled another while Aramis and D'Artagnan took on another four men, their backs pressed against each other.

Another man came at Porthos wielding a sinister looking blade. Porthos leapt back and grabbed a pewter pitcher off one of the tables. He blocked the man's wild lunges with the jug before smashing it into his hand sending the knife flying. He followed that up with a crushing blow with the pewter jug, breaking the man's jaw. He fell to the ground and moved no more.

Aramis and D'Artagnan moved as one as they defeated their opponents. Aramis instinctively ducked under one of D'Artagnan's swipes that felled one of their opponents. He kicked another in the knee sending him roughly to the ground. A quick blow with the butt end of his pistol had their opponents down to two.

"Aramis," called Athos who had just disposed of his own foe with a clever series of swipes with his rapier.

The assassin had calmly edged around the chaos of the bar room and had headed out the door. Aramis ran from the tavern, leaving Athos to assume his place against the final two men battling D'Artagnan. Porthos was hot on his heels.

"Stop or I'll shoot!" Aramis shouted, pistol still primed in his hand.

The assassin was only twenty yards away. The man raised his hands slowly and turned around.

In one hand he held a knife, and in the other –

"Bomb!" shouted Porthos as the assassin made to toss the explosive in their direction.

Aramis fired.

The man dropped.

The bomb dropped.

Aramis and Porthos dove for cover.

oOo

* * *

 _Tengan un asiento - Take a seat._

 _¿Cómo somos diferentes?" - How are we different?_

 _¡Suficiente! - Enough_


	46. The Loss, Ch 8

The Loss

Chapter 8

The eruption shook the back alley. Stone from the street and the small shed behind a neighbouring property rained down.

"Porthos! Aramis!" came the worried shouts of Athos and D'Artagnan.

"We're fine," said Porthos coughing as he and Aramis extricated themselves from beneath the cart they had taken cover under.

Aramis approached the body of the assassin. Ramero was bleeding from where the gunshot to his side had winged him. He had been blown backwards by the explosion. His rich clothes were covered in dust. He coughed and smiled at the musketeers.

"It seems that I am to be your guest after all," he said, then hissed as Aramis pulled him roughly to his feet.

They brought the assassin to the Chatelet where he would await his hanging. Treville had indicated that it wouldn't be far off as the Red Guards took the still smirking Spaniard away.

"Momentito, por favor,"he said to the guards. "Musketeers – I think I should warn you, I've heard your names in my circles before. I haven't been assigned your card as of yet, but it will only be a matter of time before I kill you," he said.

Before the others could react, D'Artagnan drew back and punched the man in the face. He stumbled and fell into the arms of his jailers. Spitting blood, he glared at the Musketeers as he was led away.

"Glad you did that," said Porthos. "I woulda' killed him."

oOo

When they returned to the garrison they met up with Cornet, Francois and Etienne and exchanged reports.

"It turns out the assassin was hired by the nobleman's nephew. The nobleman had no heirs, and the nephew was eager to assume the man's place at court. He will have the six lives also added to his crimes. They will both pay," said Cornet, sorrow and satisfaction warring in his gaze.

oOo

The next day they gathered at the garrison's cemetery to lay Adam to rest.

Bernard arrived with Annette on his arm, his other hand holding Julien's. She looked dazed, but was reassured by a tight squeeze from Bernard. She smiled at Christine when they met, her eyes flashing when she was introduced to Aramis, who held Christine's arm protectively.

Treville stood before the grave, his ocean bright eyes boring into each of the men and family members gathered that morning.

"Adam," he said "was our brother. He proudly wore the blue of the uniform, living as an example to us all and the nephew he left behind. His final act was to selflessly try to protect an innocent young boy from an explosion in the marketplace."

Treville paused. "Adam was more than just a soldier; more than just a musketeer. He was a friend to so many who will miss his smiling face at every mealtime. He was an assistant in mischief making, and quick with a joke or a word of comfort to those in need. He was kind, and courteous. Those who knew him will miss him. Those who loved him will live on and carry his spirit with them always."

Christine shuddered and lent closer into Aramis, his arm pulling her tightly to him. D'Artagnan, Francois and Bernard's faces were all marked with silent tears.

"It is our duty to serve. For Adam, his service has ended in the truest display of our motto. All for one," said Treville.

"And one for all," the musketeers echoed.

As the service ended and the musketeers broke off, Annette approached Christine and Aramis.

"I want to thank you," she said, taking Christine's hand. "Bernard told me about all you did. Your support has really been –"

"Please," Christine interrupted. "Your brother was a great man. He died a hero. And I cared for him very much."

"But you didn't love him," she said casting a knowing glance at Aramis. "Adam knew. He told me so. A heart can only want what it wants," she said with a smile as she glanced behind her to where Bernard stood waiting, Julien in his arms. "He wanted you to be happy. That's what he always said – he only wanted you to be happy, and it looks as though you are."

"I am certain he wished the same for you," Christine said smiling.

Annette smiled back. "I am glad that we met," she said.

"As am I," Christine replied. "Perhaps, would it be alright if I stopped by sometime? I sometimes get overwhelmed spending most of my time split between the men at the garrison and those at court. I would very much enjoy spending some time with someone with good sense, if you'll allow it," Christine said nervously.

Annette beamed. "I should like that very much."

oOo

It was well after midnight when an urgent pounding woke those residing at the Rue St. Germain. Rain had begun to fall earlier that evening and it appeared as though it would last through the night.

Dressed in her shift and dressing gown, Christine ushered the staff back to their rooms and away from the foyer as Aramis approached the door in his breeches and unbuttoned shirt, his pistols drawn. He signalled for Christine to keep back.

The pounding sounded again, then "Dammit Aramis, open the door!"

Aramis flung the door open and Porthos, D'Artagnan and Athos entered.

"A little late for a stroll…are the taverns all shut down?" he asked, smirking at his soggy brothers. The grin disappeared from his face immediately at the looks on their faces.

"What is it?" Christine asked as she came forward, wrapping herself protectively around Aramis.

"Not here," said Athos.

"Come to my library," she said as she led the men to her room, bidding her servants good night. Aramis snagged a few bottles of wine and some glasses as they went. It looked as though it would be a long night, not a fun one.

Settled around the table in the library, the Comtesse stoked the fire as Aramis poured the wine.

"Now," he said, "Will you tell us what has you so on edge?"

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other – a bad sign, in Aramis' opinion.

"This was delivered to the garrison just after nightfall," said Porthos pulling a letter from his pocket. "And this one was left on your front step," he said glancing at Christine as he passed both pieces of paper to Aramis.

"It seems as though Ramero has escaped. The men guarding him were found slaughtered in his cell," said Athos.

Aramis read the letters and his eyes grew cold. "Maybe soon, but not yet musketeers," was written on the one that had been delivered to the garrison while "Not yet, hermano," was all that was written on the other.

Aramis crumpled the second letter in his fist.

"What do you think it means?" Christine asked quietly.

Athos closed his eyes and brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"I'm not sure," he said. "He had mentioned that he had heard of us before but he had not yet been assigned us as targets. This may have been a warning."

"That or it's another boast," offered D'Artagnan."He's showing that he can escape us."

Athos nodded. "Apparently this won't be the day we see him hang."

Aramis slammed a fist onto the table, shaking the glasses.

"Aramis," said Christine soothingly.

"He came here," he said with anger. "He came to your home," he said.

Christine paled slightly, but took his hand. "You said it yourself, the man is not an idiot. He's probably a long way from Paris," she said, squeezing his hand tightly.

Aramis' eyes blazed at Athos; one of their silent conversations ensued.

"I agree with Christine," said Athos. "I would take this as a note of bravado, but we won't ignore the threat. He has made it clear that he is watching us, but we are not yet his targets."

"Perhaps it's true as he says, that he only murders for the money," said D'Artagnan quietly.

"Nonetheless," said Athos, "With your permission Christine, we'd like to set up a watch on your property tonight. We'll take it in shifts."

"Of course," she said. "There should be two guest rooms prepared," she said "You can take turns watching from the landing by the stairs. There is no way to access the second floor without using the main staircase."

The musketeers nodded. Athos insisted he take the first watch and Porthos and D'Artagnan gratefully took the two rooms provided to them. The comfort of a warm room and soft bed did wonders to ease their anxiety.

oOo

Aramis lay awake, holding Christine in his arms.

"You're not sleeping," she whispered to him. He smiled and looked down at her.

"Neither are you," he said.

She kissed him and said, "What's wrong, mi tesoro?"

Aramis sighed. "It's nothing," he said brushing her hair back from her face.

"It's Ramero," she said, frowning at him. "He's far away from Paris now, my love. We are safe."

Aramis sighed and tightened his grip around her. "I know that, but Christine, he was here. He knows about you, where you live. We have no idea how long he has been watching us. He could have easily killed Athos or Porthos or any of the others that day. He's already taken Adam," he said bitterly.

Her brow furrowed and her eyes darkened at these words. "He will get his justice," she said fiercely, "But we will not let him cast his shadow over our lives," she said, brushing his hair back and taking his face in her hands.

"He is trying to play with us, Aramis," she said. "Whatever his note may mean, it will not stop us from living our lives."

"If he were to harm you…" he began but she cut him off.

"If anything, my love, we are now warned about him. Anything can happen in our lives, that's what makes them precious. We have no idea how much time we have been given in this life. I know you, Aramis. You know this. You will not live your life in fear. Your zest for life and your value of it were two of the reasons I fell in love with you," she said, her eyes bright as she stared into his.

Aramis grinned as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. He delicately traced his fingers along her jawline, down her neck and across her collarbone. Christine held her breath under the power of his gaze and the lightness of his touch.

"What else made you fall in love with me?" he asked seductively with a playful laugh in his voice as his lips began to follow the course of his fingers. Her sighs were answer enough as they made love throughout the remainder of the night, savouring every breath, every moment, every second that passed as they embraced passionately, fighting fear with the fire of love and life that they found in each other.

oOo

"I thought the plan was to get out of here," the hooded man muttered as he prepared the horse.

"Change of plans," said Ramero as he tucked something into his doublet. He settled his hat on his head and made to mount the horse, wincing slightly as the pain in his side flared from the recent gunshot wound.

"My employer says I'm supposed to get you out of Paris," the man insisted, taking hold of the horse's harness and preventing the assassin's departure.

"Your employer is dead. He is no longer my concern. Or yours," said Ramero as he drew his pistol and fired it at the hooded man. The man fell backwards against the stall, the life fleeing from him as he hit the ground.

"Tranquilamente…calmly," he whispered to the startled horse beneath him. "We have work to do, my friend. Work to do, musketeers to kill…but first, I need a drink," he said and with a nudge to the horse's side, he rode out of the stable leaving the still body of the hooded man silently seeping blood.

oOo


	47. The Loss, Ch 9

The Loss

Chapter 9

Days passed at the Parisian court where a new brooch given to the Baroness de Maronne quickly pushed the notion of an escaped assassin from the minds of the noble faction. The memories of the musketeers in the garrison who were still mourning the loss of Adam were not as short as the occupants of the court.

Christine greeted Les Inseperables at the palace steps. Aramis smiled at her but she could immediately read the seriousness in the depths of his dark eyes. She went to him quickly and supportively wrapped her arms around him.

"What is the matter?" she asked Athos as the subtle squeeze from Aramis showed his appreciation of her presence and support.

"Treville may have a lead on that assassin–"

"Murderer!" D'Artagnan interrupted, his emotions getting the better of him. He and Adam had been very close and the loss was still too raw for him. Porthos placed a consoling and understanding hand on his brother's shoulder.

Athos frowned, but not in displeasure at D'Artagnan's outburst.

"What is it?" Christine asked, reading the blue eyes she knew well.

"Not here," said Athos as he glanced around the palace courtyard marked by the various courtiers and servants that swarmed the palace grounds.

"Treville will be with the King for a few hours yet. Why don't you all join me for dinner?" Christine suggested.

Athos nodded. "I need to assign evening duties in Treville's absence. Porthos, D'Artagnan and I shall join you in a few hour's time."

"Excellent," she said, releasing Aramis as he took Bella's reins from Porthos. "Be safe," she said reaching forward to give D'Artagnan's hand a quick squeeze before he mounted. Her soft grey eyes caught his bright brown ones and he offered her a small squeeze back and a sad but appreciative smile at her sisterly affection.

Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan mounted their horses and rode across the courtyard towards the garrison.

Christine and Aramis walked in silence. He absentmindedly stroked her hand with his thumb as his other hand led Bella by her reins behind them.

"You're either trying to win a bet with Porthos that you can keep quiet, or this time I've truly left you speechless," she teased as they crossed the finely paved streets towards the stately neighbourhoods near the rue St. Germain.

Aramis stopped and smiled more broadly at her.

"Perhaps it's a bit of both," he teased back as he pulled her towards him and kissed her.

She stepped back from him, breathless. "And here a girl was starting to think you might be losing interest," she laughed.

"In you?" he said, suddenly serious as he pulled her close to kiss her once again. "Never," he said releasing her slightly and placing another kiss on her wrist where her heartbeat thrummed madly for him. She blushed deeply as she looked into his eyes and for a second, the world disappeared again.

A snort and a slight nudge from Bella had the lovers draw apart.

"Jealous," Christine muttered laughingly as she stroked the horse's nose and they completed the rest of their journey towards her Paris home.

oOo

A few hours later and the musketeers reunited at Christine's dining table. Athos poured himself another glass of wine as Porthos and D'Artagnan helped themselves to seconds.

Christine watched Athos grow quieter as the meal progressed - a feat in itself for Athos. His thoughts seemed to be consuming most of his appetite, though not slaking his thirst. She raised an eyebrow at Aramis who simply shrugged his shoulders. He too was distracted; he pushed his food around his plate where normally he'd be relishing in one of his favourite meals prepared by Christine's staff.

"Athos, you've hardly eaten. Please, tell us about this lead. What's troubling you?" asked Christine, unable to keep patient for any longer. Porthos lowered the fork halfway to his mouth and lay it to rest on his plate. Aramis and D'Artagnan fixed their gazes on Athos. Athos smirked slightly and raised his eyebrows at Christine and her own plate of hardly touched food. She blushed slightly but stared back at him defiantly and determinedly. He sighed.

"It's not much to go on," he began bringing his hand up to console the bridge of his nose once again. "As we know, Ramero escaped from the Chatelet six days ago. We agreed that it was likely that he fled Paris, but I cannot shake this feeling that we're being watched. Aramis has felt the same."

Aramis frowned slightly and nodded. "I have had the staff here greet any deliveries out on the street and examine the underside of any carts and wagons before permitting them onto the property. I've asked Serge to do the same at the Garrison. We know Ramero has a penchant for explosives…"

Christine nodded her understanding and Athos continued.

"We know Ramero is an assassin for hire and though he said he was not yet assigned our card, I fear this may have turned into a personal vendetta."

"We cut into his business," said Porthos. "An explosion at your place of business, an arrest and a price on your head set by the King tends to decrease your value in his kinda work."

"I thought we agreed that it was likely that the man had left the city…" D'Artagnan said with a frown.

Athos took a deep sip from his glass and frowned. "Treville summoned me from duty while at the palace today," he said, and the others all leant nearer for this new information. "Three days ago, the Red Guard discovered the body of the man who was suspected of helping that villain escape."

"Three days!" exclaimed D'Artagnan. "Why weren't we informed?"

"That's exactly what Treville is trying to discover at the palace. It's unclear whether the Red Guard and their new captain have been involved in Ramero's schemes, if they're intentionally trying to deter this investigation, or if they're simply proving their ineptitude as usual," Athos said coldly.

"My money's on the latter," Aramis muttered causing Porthos to grin wickedly at him.

"Regardless, with the discovery of this body, it seems more than likely that Ramero is hiding out somewhere in the city," said Athos. "The dead man, I believe, was to be his chaperone; meant to escort him from Paris. He was an employee of the Duke d'Alfonse."

"The Duke was found dead three days ago as well," said Christine. "They said he had died in his sleep."

"It looks as though Ramero is cutting his bonds. He must have worked for the Duke before. The Duke probably had him freed for fear of what he might confess. Once free from jail, it seems as though Ramero disliked being in someone's debt. He has no loyalty. He's only loyal to his coin. He told us so himself," Aramis said.

Christine frowned as she processed this information. "The discovery of this body does change things…but it's not really a lead, is it?"

Athos smiled grimly. "No, and the one Treville offered isn't much better. It's not a lead so much as an opportunity…The King will be entertaining some Persian traders in a few days' time. There's to be a celebration complete with a fireworks demonstration. We will be assigned to guard duty – "

"No," said Christine, interrupting him, her temper rising. "Athos, you cannot be serious."

Athos smiled slightly again; a sadness and a hint of pride flashed through his eyes at how quickly she had picked up on his plan. He took a sip of wine as her eyes flickered to each of the musketeers' faces before returning to Aramis'. Aramis, for his part, just stared straight at the table.

"No," Christine repeated. "No! I won't hear of it!"

"Christine –" Aramis began, pulling his eyes from the table to focus on hers. He took her hand in his and she pulled it away.

"No!" she repeated firmly. "There must be another way. You cannot use yourselves as bait for this madman!"

"It would be an opportunity he couldn't pass up," Athos said.

"High profile," Porthos agreed. "If he could assassinate four musketeers in the midst of a celebration at the palace…an assassin like that would be worth his weight in gold."

"No," Christine insisted. "I won't let you – any of you – put yourselves in danger like that."

"If we control the situation, use ourselves as bait, we can lower the risk of anyone else getting hurt," Aramis said taking her hand once more.

Christine shook her head, her hand coming to cradle his face. "No, he doesn't care about who he hurts. He didn't care last time when he killed those people…when he killed Adam," she pleaded. She had tears in her eyes now, which she was desperately trying to prevent from falling. Aramis stared back into her eyes and lifted her hand to his lips.

"By taking control of the situation, we'd be able to ensure no one else was at risk. He wouldn't want to risk injuring the nobility. They're his clientele after all," Athos said.

"Christine," said D'Artagnan softly. She turned her head to look at the youngest member of their family, her hands still clutching Aramis'. "This may be the only opportunity we have at capturing this madman. The only way to ensure he doesn't kill others with the same disregard he showed when he killed Adam…"

She looked from his bright eyes, to Porthos' to Athos' sitting next to him before looking once more at Aramis. His eyes were soft and sad, but determined, smouldering with a protective fire.

Knowing she was defeated this time, she swallowed her threat of tears.

"Ok," she said, breathing deeply. "How can I help?"

oOo


	48. The Loss, Ch 10

_**A/N: Posting this while my train is delayed. Any mistakes, blame it on the train! Hope you all have a fantastic weekend, and thanks for reading and reviewing!**_

* * *

The Loss

Chapter 10

Christine lay awake in Aramis' arms that night.

Visions of the aftermath of the explosion haunted her thoughts.

...The face of Bernard as he fought Treville to stay in the infirmary, the way Etienne pleaded with the surgeon to do something, the pain in D'Artagnan's eyes, Athos needing to be helped to the infirmary by Porthos, the look of fear and panic that momentarily flitted across Aramis' normally calm and confident face in the infirmary as he assessed Adam's injuries…Then, the remains of the four who took the brunt of the explosion, the covered and still body of the young boy…Adam…the gruesome way his body had been punctured as he tried to shield the boy from the flying debris…

She shuddered and fought the sob that threatened to escape with the tears that had begun to fall from her eyes. Aramis drew his arms tighter around her and gently kissed her shoulder.

"You're not sleeping," he said softly and sadly.

She shook her head and brushed the tears from her eyes. "No," she said, "Neither are you." She turned onto her back and gazed up at the canopy of the bed. She allowed his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her close as he propped himself up on his elbow and studied the worry lines on her face.

"Christine," he whispered and held her close as she quietly cried.

"Aramis, I'm scared," she said. He said nothing but continued to hold her against him. "This Ramero," she said, "He's a monster. Before he killed for money. Now he'll kill you for pleasure… and the four of you are offering yourselves to him as bait for his pride. His pride!"

"Sh, mi tesora…sh," he soothed.

"No Aramis, you're a soldier. You know how many lives are lost to a man's pride. That's why it's one of the seven deadly sins," she snapped at him. She felt him tense at these words, but he still held her close. She turned towards him and wrapped her arms around him and wept into his shoulder as he stroked her back.

"I lied to him Aramis," she whispered miserably as her tears began to settle.

"To who?" he asked as he gently brushed the hair from her face. She would not meet his eyes.

"To Adam," she whispered finally. "I told him that the boy had lived. I said that he had saved him. I said he was a hero! I couldn't let him know that his actions…that he sacrificed himself for nothing. And I can't watch the ones I love do the same! The thought of seeing Athos or Porthos or D'Artagnan that way…the thought of losing you…Aramis, mi tesoro, I can't…I just can't…"

Her eyes burned as she raised hers to meet his. His breath was taken by the fierceness of the love, the depth of the pain and the scope of the determination he saw in her eyes. In that moment he sent a thankful prayer to God for blessing him with the miracle of this woman and her love.

He ran his hand along her face and held it against her cheek so she couldn't look away.

"Christine," he said seriously, "You did not lie to Adam. You saved him. It was in the effort to save the boy – to willingly risk his own life – that is what made Adam a hero," he said. The tears once more began to fall from her eyes, but she did not look away.

"Danger happens everyday. You and I are both too well versed in loss for me to have to explain that to you, my love. I cannot tell you what the Lord has in store for any of us. I can tell you that Ramero is a madman and must be stopped. I can tell you that my brothers and I – and you too Christine – will do everything we can to prevent anyone else from falling victim to his mercilessness. I cannot say that there is no risk – that injury, or even death, are not possible outcomes of this plan. I can tell you Christine that I love you, with every fibre of my being," he said. "You will never lose me. I will keep you in my heart until its last beat – be it if I die on some battlefield in a distant land, or get run down by a cart while crossing the street or as an old man surrounded by our grandchildren. You will never lose me Christine, because I will never let you go. I will always find a way to come back to you."

He kissed her and held her close and she did the same. They held each other, breathing as one, their hearts beating as one, and were comforted and fortified by the love they shared for each other.

As the dawn light slowly filtered into the bedroom, Christine ran her hand along the face of the man she loved so deeply, cherishing each ray of light that touched him.

"You have all of me, Aramis. All of me," she said, clasping his hands in hers and bringing them to her lips. "God has given me the miracle of your love. You will come back to me," she said, partly as a prayer and partly as a promise.

"I swear."

oOo

The next morning passed quickly. Treville listened to their plan and though the fire in his eyes flared at the danger he knew these men would be facing, he, like Christine, could only relent and ask how he was to play his part.

As the musketeers exited Treville's office and made their way to where their horses stood waiting in the courtyard, one of the stable hands approached them.

"Aramis?" the lad said apprehensively.

"What is it Jacques?" the marksman replied warmly.

"There was a man who was asking about Bella…" The musketeers stopped and looked at the young man inquisitively.

"What did he say?" Athos asked bluntly.

"Nothing really lieutenant…he said that he had seen her around and thought her beautiful. He even called her bella…he said…he said she looked like a jealous creature."

Aramis raised his eyebrows at this comment and turned to look at his brothers. The three of them were well aware of the horse's jealous and protective tendencies when it came to her rider.

"What did this man look like Jacques?" D'Artagnan asked the lad who blushed deeply under the scrutiny of these men.

"I didn't get too good of a look at him as he was wearing a hood, but his eyes were dark and he had a bit of an accent…he sounded Italian...or Spanish…"

"Aramis?" asked Porthos as the marksman paled slightly.

"Yesterday…while returning to the rue St. Germain…Christine joked about Bella's jealousy…"

"The man asked me to give you this," said Jacques hesitantly as he passed Aramis a sealed note. Aramis stared at the letter and took it wordlessly.

"Thank you Jacques," said D'Artagnan warmly, as the lad continued to look nervously at Aramis.

"I'm sorry Aramis if I did something wrong. The man made me nervous…I didn't want to let him into the garrison or anywhere near the horses…"

"You did well, Jacques, thank you," said Aramis kindly and dismissed the boy with a small smile.

His three brothers gathered close to him as he tore the note open and read it, his eyes widening immediately as they took in its contents.

Instantly Aramis had crumpled the note; dropping it to the ground, he leapt onto Bella's back and bolted from the garrison. Athos knelt to retrieve the note.

"Aramis!" cried Porthos as he mounted Flip and prepared to take off after his brother.

"He's at Christine's! Go! Go! We'll follow!" Athos shouted as his blue eyes scanned the paper.

Without further prompting Porthos went barrelling out of the garrison gates.

Athos shoved the note into D'Artagnan's hands along with the reins of his horse as he hoisted himself onto Roger.

"She looks beautiful in green this morning, hermano" was all the note said.

oOo


	49. The Loss, Ch 11

The Loss

Chapter 11

"Christine! Christine!" cried Aramis as he hurled himself through the blue front door.

In the courtyard, Bella was neighing wildly as a desperate Victor tried to calm her.

"Christine!" Aramis shouted as he ran up the stairs.

She met him on the landing, her pale skin glistening against her dark green dress in the afternoon sunlight. A frightened Marie trailed behind her.

"Aramis! What's wrong?" Christine said as he sheltered her against him and pulled her back towards the library, a breathless Porthos and Marie following.

"Close the window," Aramis called to Porthos. "Get behind here," he said as he led Christine and Marie to a couch that sat in front of a wall.

"Aramis, what's going on? Please tell me," Christine begged.

They all grew quiet at the sound of the door banging open in the foyer below. Christine crouched behind the couch, pulling Marie protectively with her; Aramis and Porthos drew their pistols. He glanced at her and she nodded to him, affirming her trust in him as she held her frightened maid against her. Frantic boot steps could be heard on the stairs.

A slight pause…and then…

"Aramis?" came Athos' voice from the other side of the door.

Aramis let out a deep breath and lowered his pistols.

"In here," called Porthos moving to open the doors.

"Christine – is she –" Athos said, his normally calm voice laced with panic.

"She's fine," said Porthos, stepping back so he could see for himself.

Christine stood and led a shaking Marie to a seat on the couch. D'Artagnan took a pitcher and a glass from a table nearby and poured the young woman some water as he took the seat next to her in order to comfort her.

Aramis grasped Christine and pulled her to him, his hands cradling her face as he pressed his forehead to hers. "You're all right," he whispered, his breathing heavy with relief.

"Aramis, love, I'm fine…" she said confusedly taking his wrists in her hands. He kissed her suddenly and she was startled by the urgency in the embrace.

"Aramis, mi Tesoro, tell me what happened," she begged as she pulled him towards the couch.

Aramis sat next to her and took her hands in his and brought it to his lips.

She glanced at Athos and was surprised to see the relief palpably written on his face as well.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on? What's happened?"

"You were threatened," said Athos bluntly.

She paled slightly but recovered quickly. "How?" she asked, forcing the tremble from her voice.

"We've been watched," said Aramis, his eyes refusing to leave her face. "Yesterday, on our walk from the palace…and then again, this morning. Tell me, what did you do once I had left you?"

Christine frowned at the cryptic question. "Marie and I went to the market...we had to pick up a ribbon for my gown for the King's celebration…we weren't there long."

"Did anyone bother you? Did you notice anything suspicious?" Athos asked.

"No, of course not…"

"Well that's not entirely true, my lady," said Marie quietly, startling the Comtesse. Athos' eyes narrowed at her, but with a slight smile and an encouraging squeeze from D'Artagnan, she continued. "There was a beggar on the street outside the dressmaker's. He complimented your gown when you placed a few coins in his cup…he said you looked beautiful in green…"

"You're right," said Christine slowly, her troubled expression growing as she brought her hand to her lips. Aramis' brown eyes widened immediately. "He kissed my hand and called me Hermosa…" she gasped suddenly. "I'm sorry! I didn't think anything of it! He seemed harmless – just a man down on his luck…"

"Do either of you remember anything else?" Porthos asked, his head turning between the two women. Christine looked at Marie and shook her head. Marie worried her lip as she glanced towards the calm and kind but still intimidating gaze of Athos.

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"Well it may be nothing, but his clothes…" Marie said slowly. Christine gave her maidservant a confused look.

"What of them? His cloak was old and tattered."

"Yes mistress, but as he bent to kiss your hand, his sleeve was exposed. I know you have little patience for these things, but his coat he wore beneath the tattered cloak was exceptionally made and the shirt cuff was silk…it looked odd…"

The room fell silent at these words.

"Thank you Marie. You've been very helpful," said Athos softly. "D'Artagnan, please escort Marie to her chamber so she can rest."

"I'll fetch you some wine," she said rising. Athos bowed his head to her as the Gascon led her from the room. She paused at the door and offered Aramis and Christine a small smile, which they both returned.

"Christine-"

"Athos, I'm so sorry. I didn't think anything of it. He seemed so desperate," she said miserably as her eyes attempted to burn holes in the floor.

"This is not your fault Christine," said Aramis, pulling her hand to his lips once more. She looked into his eyes and was comforted. "We should have been more careful. I did not think he would dare come outright and approach you." The muketeers exchanged a pointed look, recognizing the threat for what it was.

"I still should have been more aware of my surroundings," said Christine, her face reddening slightly apologetically.

"You couldn't have known it was him," said Porthos. "He's a trained assassin. It's his job to hide in plain sight."

Athos nodded as D'Artagnan re-entered carrying a decanter of wine and some glasses. "Christine, knowing what you know now, are you sure there isn't anything you can remember about the man from the street," he asked.

Christine took the cup of wine D'Artagnan poured her and took a sip.

"He looked pale and drawn…ashen almost…that's why I didn't feel threatened by him where he leaned against the store wall…and he winced as he thanked me! He was trying to hide it, but it seemed as though he were suffering from a pain in his side," she said eagerly.

"That would be from where I shot him. Of course only you would notice the pain of a man before the clothes he was wearing," said Aramis, smiling at the woman he loved with pride.

She smiled back at him and blushed. "That doesn't bring us any closer to finding him though…"

"No, but it tells us he may be weakened –" said D'Artagnan enthusiastically.

"Or desperate," Porthos countered.

"How's Marie?" Christine asked.

"She should be fine," said D'Artagnan. "She gave orders to prepare dinner before she retired to her chamber. She's worried, but she's strong," he said with a grin.

"No one leaves this house tonight," said Aramis gravely. "We'll set the watch. There will be Musketeers with you at all times. I don't want you leaving this place until the celebration tomorrow evening."

"Aramis-" she began, but Athos cut her off.

"He's right," he said.

"If he threatens one of us," said Porthos.

"He threatens all of us," replied D'Artagnan.

"And I will go through the gates of hell before I let him near you again," said Aramis fiercely, his dark eyes burning like coals of anger.

She squeezed his hands and he exhaled slowly as she nodded her compliance.

oOo


	50. The Loss, Ch 12

The Loss

Chapter 12

The day of the King's celebration arrived. Playing largely into the musketeers' plans, the King loudly announced that his elite Musketeers would be guarding the Persians' tent and goods throughout the celebration. Rumours and speculation spread quickly as courtiers guessed at what wares the traders may have brought the King. The entire city seemed to be chatting about the gifts from the east. Porthos' large and intimidating presence in front of the tent only added kindling to that fire.

Aramis helped Christine from her carriage. She looked beautiful dressed formally for court in an aubergine gown. She gave Cornet and Etienne a small smile as Aramis escorted her towards them.

"Once more I'm left speechless by your beauty, my lady," Cornet teased with a grin.

"Then perhaps miracles do exist, Cornet. I thought your silence was a thing of myth," she teased back. He grinned at her and she smiled back as if to show that she had her nerves in check.

"Is everything prepared?" Aramis asked Etienne who nodded.

"The others are awaiting you at the tent. Francois and Bernard are with Treville and the King and his courtiers and the rest of the musketeers are within. The party is expected to move towards the south lawn for the fireworks display just before midnight," he said.

Aramis squeezed Christine's hand. "I want you to stay near a musketeer at all times. Ramero knows who you are Christine. He may try to use you as leverage."

"We'll keep her safe Aramis," Cornet promised.

"One of us will have her in sight the whole time. If that villain tries anything…" Etienne warned.

"But what about you?" Christine interrupted. "I'll not have any of you acting rashly. How will we know if you've apprehended Ramero?"

"Trust me, my love, you'll know," Aramis replied.

She held his gaze for a moment, then kissed him passionately, stealing his breath away.

"Just in case," she breathed, then turned and led the way inside the palace with Etienne.

Cornet looked at the suddenly serious Aramis as he watched Christine climb the palace steps.

"Cornet…if anything happens…"

"I'll protect her with my life Aramis," the well-seasoned soldier affirmed.

With a shared look and a brief pat to the shoulder, Aramis turned and crossed the courtyard to where his brothers awaited him.

oOo

Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan patrolled the tent's perimeter as the revelry took place within the palace. The night sky was clear from clouds and sprinkled with starlight – a perfect night for a fireworks display. The King would be pleased.

"What if he doesn't show?" Porthos grumbled lowly to Athos.

"He will," said Athos confidently.

"How is your leg?" Aramis asked as he approached them, his eyes glancing across the lawns up towards the palace.

Athos frowned. "A faint memory. Nearly healed," he said. "Aramis, you need to stay focused. We need your instincts for danger on high alert."

Aramis' eyes snapped back to Athos; he nodded grimly. "I know," he said, and with a significant look at his brothers, he continued his patrol.

One, two hours passed with no action. Soon the King and his guests would be making their way outside to the pavilion erected for them to witness the fireworks.

Aramis approached Athos and Porthos moving quickly.

"Have you seen D'Artagnan?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning the thick tree line that edged the park where the tent had been set up.

"No," said Athos. "He's supposed to be patrolling the south-east side near the tree line."

"I know…something doesn't feel right," said Aramis.

Porthos growled lowly, worry creeping into the eyes of his brothers. "Well unless he got lost, he should be coming around that corner at any moment."

"Get down!" shouted Aramis as a branch snapped and a pistol shot rang out.

The shot hit Porthos near the shoulder. He crumpled into Athos' arms on impact.

"Porthos!" cried Aramis as he knelt to assess the wound.

"I'm fine. It was just a graze," Porthos panted as Aramis quickly moved to tie the wound with Athos' scarf.

"The next shot will be your life," Ramero purred, emerging from the foliage with six men in tow.

A brute of a man pushed a bound and gagged D'Artagnan to his knees. A dark bruise was forming on the young man's cheekbone and blood could be seen at his hairline. He swayed slightly as he knelt, fighting the effects of the brutal blow that must have led to his capture.

Aramis, Athos and Porthos stood silently and gazed at their younger brother where he knelt at the mercy of Ramero and his cronies.

"You should surrender now and the King might spare your life," Athos said coldly.

"We may not be as merciful," growled Porthos, his voice full of deadly menace.

Ramero smiled. "Seven men…against three and another who's bound and trussed like a pig?"

"The odds don't look good for you," said Athos. One or two of the men behind Ramero glanced at each other nervously. Clearly these thugs were not of Ramero's typical calibre.

Ramero drew his dagger, "Perhaps I should better even the odds then?" he growled and pulled D'Artagnan's head back by his hair.

"You would be dead before you could draw breath," spat Aramis, pulling his pistol in the blink of an eye and levelling it at the assassin.

All the men tensed. D'Artagnan's eyelids flickered.

Ramero stared down the barrel of Aramis' pistol and laughed lowly.

"This is only going to go one of two ways, hermano," sneered Ramero. "I'll look forward to offering my condolences to your lady. She's sure to be lonely in that big home all by herself and I know she has a taste for Spanish blood."

It happened in an instant.

D'Artagnan leapt to his feet and threw his head backwards into the unsuspecting face of Ramero who fell backwards in pain as blood began to pour from his nose. Aramis fired his pistol at the large brute who had held D'Artagnan captive so he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Athos, Porthos and Aramis drew their blades and leapt into battle.

Aramis pushed forward and slit the bonds on D'Artagnan's wrists with his rapier. D'Artagnan pulled the rag from his mouth and relieved his dead guard of his blade before joining the fray.

Porthos' blade flashed mightily as he faced two men at once. He laughed menacingly at the men as they exchanged blows, which seemed to unnerve one of his combatants. A moment's hesitation and Porthos capitalized, plunging his blade deep into the chest of his opponent. His wide eyes saw no more. Porthos was tackled from the side by his other opponent before he could pull his blade free, and the two large men went crashing to the ground taking one of the torches that lit the area down with them.

From over his shoulder Athos saw Porthos and the man fall, as he ducked under the swipe of an enemy's blade. He threw his elbow into that man's face and turned to confront the new thug that stepped up to continue the battle. This man had some skill and deftly wielded both a rapier and his parrying dagger. Athos managed to block the lunge of the rapier, but was unable to fully stop the parrying dagger from glancing off his side. The stroke stung, but Athos knew it was a superficial wound at most and began to levy his own attack at the man.

D'Artagnan shook his head to try to clear the dark spots from his eyes just as the last of Ramero's henchmen decided to challenge the young musketeer. It took all of two heartbeats for D'Artagnan to recognize and act on the danger he was in, raising the rapier he had taken over his head to block the heavy stroke of his opponent. Again and again the blows rained down upon him and his arm shook under their impact. D'Artagnan's head throbbed but he held himself together and waited as the man began to show signs of tiring slightly. D'Artagnan stepped forward and using a quick ball-change to pivot, he stepped within the lout's defences and plunged his blade into the man's neck. He spun out as the man fell, clutching his neck in surprise as his life left him.

Aramis through this battle had eyes only for Ramero. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of the tent beginning to catch fire – the flames of the fallen torch had climbed one of the tethering ropes and had set fire to the canvas sheets.

Ramero wiped the blood from his nose and laughed as he pulled his rapier into his free hand, the dagger still held in the other.

"You could have joined me hermano! Think what we could have accomplished together! Think of the gold we could have made," he said as he and Aramis crossed blades. A stroke from Ramero cut Aramis' arm and he hissed in anger. Ramero laughed again.

"Perhaps your lady's love has made you soft though," he sneered and continued his attack. Incensed, Ramero furiously drove Aramis backwards towards the flaming tent.

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Sorry, i fell behind in my posting a bit...Hope this makes up for it! Thanks for reading!**_


	51. The Loss, Ch 13

The Loss

Chapter 13

Porthos wrestled on the ground with his opponent. The two giants exchanged heavy blows with fists feeling like cannon fire as the heat from the burning tent rose and acrid smoke drifted across the lawns. The guests of King Louis had begun to emerge from the palace and shrieks of fear could be heard in the distance at the sight of the flames.

Somehow the villain had gained the upper hand. His heavy body lay on top of Porthos, his hands wrapped around his neck and pushed down on his windpipe. Porthos fought to remove the man's hands wrapped around his throat with his left hand. His right hand grasped desperately for his blade that was protruding from the corpse of his initial opponent that had fallen nearby. The brute was focused on Porthos who continued to fight for air, dealing hard blows into the man's side with his left hand. The fingers of his right hand clawed at the dirt until they finally made purchase on the handle of the blade. With an effort, he wrenched it free and plunged it into the side of his assailant. The man's fierce eyes widened, his grip slackened and his body fell lifelessly on top of a heavily panting Porthos.

Athos could see the courtiers that had gathered on the lawn and heard their cries at the sight of the flames. From the corner of his eye he thought he could see Treville by the King and Queen, Francois and Etienne by his side. He continued to fight the man before him and almost paid for his momentary distraction, but was able to dodge the blow. The situation was growing more intense as the crowd of courtiers pushed closer to the tent, the King loudly and enthusiastically barking orders. Athos knew he had to end this fight quickly, and with a few decisive strokes, his last villain was defeated.

Aramis and Ramero continued their battle, neither man giving ground. Ramero was tiring, yet still he would not yield; his injury made him more violent and desperate. They stood before the mouth of the tent now, strands of burning fabric floated by as they tore away from the structure. A crash came from within as one of the crates posing as the traders' wares collapsed from the heat. The men strode backwards and forwards, matching each other with each stroke.

Suddenly, Ramero lunged with his rapier outstretched, but Aramis dodged it. Ramero winced slightly as he regained his balance, the wound in his side making itself felt. In that instant, with a quick switch of his wrist, Aramis caught Ramero's forearm with his blade. The assassin roared in anger as his dagger fell away, and he was cast backwards when Aramis followed up the strike with a kick to the chest.

Ramero dropped back to his knees. He had lost his rapier now as well and held his right hand behind his back; his left hand was bloodied and raised over his head.

"Surrender or I'll kill you," Aramis snarled as he stood before the Spanish assassin drawing his other pistol.

Ramero laughed. "Then kill me, hermano," he pushed to his feet. "You know your jails won't hold me – and you won't be able to stop me from trying to kill you and all you hold dear. I have nothing now thanks to you and these other musketeers."

"Surrender! Let me see your other hand!" demanded Aramis as Ramero began backing up towards the flaming tent.

"I am afraid I can't do that. I have my reputation," he said cryptically.

"Show me your hands!" Aramis shouted again, aware of his brothers approaching from behind him.

"You may kill me," Ramero laughed, "But your card is up," he said with a wicked grin as he lifted a lit bomb over his head.

Aramis didn't think. He fired his pistol hitting Ramero in his black heart, the evil grin still on his face as his lifeless body fell to its knees. The bomb dropped and Aramis leapt forward.

"No! Aramis!" he heard one of his brothers cry. He scooped up the bomb and for a second he looked back. He stared into the darkness and saw her face.

"I swear," he said, promising to return to her, as he closed his eyes and leapt into the fire.

Before Athos, Porthos or D'Artagnan could run more than a few strides, the bomb went off inside the tent and the musketeers were blown backwards by its force.

oOo

The celebration inside the palace took place like any other.

Eager courtiers hovered around the King and Queen like moths to a flame, many of whom seemingly with hardly the I.Q. to match the winged insects. Christine stood apart from the crowd, her eyes continually straying to the darkened lawn that was visible through the tall windows.

Captain Treville approached her from across the ballroom.

"It's nearing midnight. The King will give the order to proceed outside shortly," said the Captain. Christine nodded. She glanced at Etienne who stood at his post. He too kept anxiously glancing towards the window in hopes of a sign.

Captain Treville frowned to see the worry on her face, but he felt a sense of pride as she conquered her nerves and gave him a small smile. He more than anyone knew how much easier it was to fling yourself into battle than to be the one waiting for news. He marvelled once more at the strength of the beautiful young woman beside him.

"Gentlemen, my ladies," drawled King Louis' voice over the gathered crowd, "Midnight is almost upon us! To the south lawn!"

The gilded doors were thrown open and the nobility began to filter out to the lawn for the best seat for the fireworks next to the King.

"Captain, will you do me the honour of escorting me to the lawn?" asked Christine coyly with a teasing grin and Treville could see immediately how Aramis had fallen in love with her.

He smiled back, and said, "I would be honoured," adding a slight bow, which caught Christine off-guard.

She smiled at him again and took his elbow as he led her out to the lawn.

As they descended, an orange glow could be seen building on the lawn ahead of them.

"What is that?" someone asked, pointing to where the traders' tent was supposed to be.

"Fire," whispered Christine her eyes wide as she pulled herself away from Treville.

"Christine!" Treville called as she pushed forward through the crowd. "Musketeers! To the King! Cornet! To Christine!" he shouted as he commanded his musketeers who immediately took charge of the situation ushering the nobles back towards the safety of the palace.

Christine continued to push herself through the crowd of gaping nobles. She broke free from the gawkers and ran across the lawns. She heard Cornet call her name from behind her, but she couldn't stop. This fire wasn't part of the plan!

She was 100-yards or so away. The bright orange blaze silhouetted the battles before it, enlarging the warriors and throwing grotesque shadows that stretched across the freshly manicured grass.

She saw where Porthos wrestled a giant, where Athos defeated his foe and where D'Artagnan perfectly executed the ball-change he had practised to vanquish his enemy. Then she saw him: Aramis, locked in battle with the madman.

She saw the villain fall to his knees. She saw him rise, one hand raised over his head. She slowed her pace, but continued her progress forward.

She saw Athos and Porthos and D'Artagnan. They stood shoulder to shoulder flanking Aramis.

She hesitated just for a moment to catch her breath, and then the world fell apart.

The villain's other hand went up.

A pistol was fired.

Something fell from the outstretched hand.

A shout of panic, a cry to stop, and then his eyes as he stooped, looked at her and leapt into the flames.

oOo


	52. The Loss, Ch 14

The Loss

Chapter 14

She stopped for a moment, only for a moment, and just to catch her breath.

She saw the hand go up and Aramis' brothers begin to flank him. They were still nearly 40 paces back.

She saw the hand go up and heard the pistol fire. She saw the madman fall.

She saw Aramis scoop something up.

She saw his eyes, his fierce, dark eyes, catching hers and softening just for a heartbeat.

She saw his eyes.

He turned away and leapt into the tent - into the fire.

She had barely exhaled the word "Aramis" before she was running towards danger and the fire that threatened the man that she loved.

She was running towards the burning tent as it erupted in a burst of light before her eyes.

She threw her hands up as the light hit her and was momentarily halted.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

She was up and running again towards the devastation of the burning tent.

"Aramis!" She cried and pushed forward.

"Christine! No! It's not safe!" Arms were holding her back. Cornet's arms.

She threw her elbow into his jaw and he released her with a groan as she pulled herself forward once again.

She had to get to him. She had to find him.

The tent was in ruins. Charred remains of crates and a few storage trunks were all that seemed clear of the blast radius and stood like odd sentinels around the periphery of the explosion. Smoking tendrils of canvas fluttered to the ground.

"Aramis!" she called again; she was almost there.

"Aramis!" her voice echoed Porthos' and D'Artagnan's as they pulled themselves towards the smoking remains.

* * *

 ** _The heavy canvas tent was supposed to have helped to quell the explosion. The crates and parcels were kept empty of any flammable or explosive substances. The Musketeers had assumed Ramero would use gunpowder if things went wrong. It had been their intention to drive Ramero into the tent before an explosion was sent off._**

 ** _Their plan had almost worked._**

 ** _Ramero had managed to light the bomb's long fuse on a piece of burning debris when Aramis struck him to his knees – something they were not expecting._**

 ** _Their plan was supposed to have Ramero well within the tent before the explosive could be detonated._**

 ** _The plan was thrown away when Ramero was felled too near the entrance to the tent._**

 ** _The plan was thrown out the window when Aramis picked up the explosive. He was a marksman after all. He knew about time and distance, and his years of battle had taught him all he needed about the damage explosives could do._**

 ** _He saw the courtiers coming nearer; he saw his brothers standing close – almost too close. Then he saw her and he knew he had to protect her. He had to get rid of the bomb._**

* * *

"Aramis!" she called again, but was caught this time by Athos, his hands pushing her back.

"Christine!" he shouted, holding her from the wreckage. "Don't go in there! It's not safe!"

"I don't care! I don't care Athos! Let me go! He's in there!" she fought him. He tried to hold her firm but she was fighting tooth and nail.

"Christine!" he pleaded, "Christine! I'll find him for you! I swear it Christine! I'll find him for you…"

"No Athos! He'll come back! He promised me…" she cried. At some point tears had begun to fall violently down her face.

She gasped at the desolate expression on D'Artagnan's face as he looked desperately and hopelessly around at the wreckage of the crates at his feet, and she fought Athos even harder because of it.

"Christine," muttered Cornet from over her shoulder as Athos held her in place. He had finally caught up to her, but his tone made it clear he'd prefer to be anywhere but staring at the smoking ruins of the tent.

Porthos was still tossing crates aside, not far from the fallen pile of storage trunks.

"Christine, please," Athos pleaded again.

Porthos paused in his search panting and ran a hand through his hair as he glanced wildly at the pile of trunks and the damage around him. She watched him wilt.

"No," Christine whispered as she saw the strength of Porthos be pulled from him. Athos looked back at the same scene and his breath caught. His grip weakened.

"No," she said again, louder now and she pulled herself away from Athos.

"No!" she cried as she ran towards where Porthos stood.

"No! Aramis! Aramis!" she called desperately as she crossed the smouldering remains of the crates, scorching the hem of her skirt. Porthos caught her before she could get far and she was helpless in his grip. She fought him anyway, her arms pushing futilely at the large man as she fought to find Aramis.

"No Porthos! No! He promised…he promised he'd come back…he swore! Aramis!" she sobbed against him and realized Porthos was sobbing too.

He held her and she cried as her heart was sucked from her chest. "I've lost him," she whispered as she and Porthos fell to their knees. Was it his body supporting hers or hers supporting his? She couldn't be sure. All feeling had been stolen from her as the world was robbed of colour and intense pain radiated from her chest.

oOo


	53. The Loss, Ch 15

The Loss

Chapter 15

Christine could hear her heart pounding in her eardrums.

She was vaguely aware of Athos and D'Artagnan standing nearby. The Captain was still trying to wrangle the royals and their courtiers to safety inside the palace.

Again she heard her heart pounding in her ears as her tears fell and the ash continued to rain down on them.

She was listening for her heart's last beat. If he was gone, she knew it would come soon...

The seconds felt like years as she knelt in anguish against an inconsolable Porthos.

Then, suddenly, the pounding changed.

It was soft at first then quickly became stronger and more erratic – more desperate.

She pulled in a breath and listened. "Can you hear that?" she asked desperately, hoping beyond hope for a confirmation.

"It's coming from over here!" Cornet shouted as he immediately began to clear the pathway towards the pile of fallen trunks. One hidden at its centre was shuddering with every impact.

Athos and D'Artagnan pushed through the wreckage to Cornet's side and helped him push and pull the other trunks aside until the source of the pounding was almost free.

Christine and Porthos dared not to breathe.

Cornet lifted a pole that had fallen over the lid of the trunk as Athos and D'Artagnan wiggled it free; the pole crashed to the ground once released by the musketeer without the support of its trunk.

Christine and Porthos staggered to their feet, eyes fixed on the trunk lid.

The lid had been bent on the impact and the trunk groaned as Athos and D'Artagnan pulled to help force the lid open.

It was kicked back suddenly and a desperately panting Aramis sat bolt upright and leaned over the edge of the trunk, coughing and gasping wildly for air.

"Aramis?" cried D'Artagnan incredulously as he and Athos flew to the front of the trunk.

The marksman continued to cough hoarsely but he raised his hand in acknowledgement.

"Aramis!" shouted Athos over his shoulder as Cornet helped to ease the marksman to sit back and handed him a water skin.

Porthos and Christine stood there – both momentarily stunned. Then all at once Porthos' knees gave way and he fell back to the ground pulling Christine down with him. They knelt there and held each other, simultaneously sobbing, praying and laughing for joy.

They stumbled to their feet again and ran towards the trunk holding Aramis, their faces elated – and that was the last image Aramis saw before the darkness took him – the joyous faces of the ones he loved.

oOo

Everything was bright – too bright.

The sun seared his eyes through closed eyelids.

He squirmed in his sheets trying to escape the light.

A soft hand on his face soothed him and he leant into the tender touch. The ghost of a kiss crossed his lips and he couldn't help the smile that they formed in response.

Then her laughter came through like the tinkling of bells.

"Are you ready to wake up now?" she whispered teasingly.

He raised his hand to cover hers that still rested against his cheek. He pulled her wrist towards his lips and kissed where he felt her heartbeat surging. She laughed again and bent forward to kiss him once more, her long dark hair falling like a curtain smelling of lavender and mint around him.

He opened his eyes and saw her beautiful face beaming at him.

"Good morning," she whispered, her eyes bright with relief.

"Good morning," he replied as his fingers braided themselves in her hair and he just gazed at her.

"It's about time you got up!" came Porthos' gruff admonishment. Aramis looked past Christine to where his brothers stood at the foot of the bed he was lying in. He grinned at them and they looked relieved.

"Good morning to you too," he said as he raised himself up in the bed and Christine adjusted the pillows behind him so he was seated comfortably.

"Nearly good afternoon. You've been out for several hours," said Athos dryly.

Aramis nodded as the rest of the details of the room came into focus. "The palace?" he asked as he looked at the marble columns, the thick carpet and the rich brocade curtains that decorated the room.

"His Majesty insisted," said D'Artagnan with a grin.

"I guess some of us are just born lucky," Aramis replied with a grin of his own. This instantly sobered his brothers and Christine. Her hands fidgeted with the bed sheets where she sat on the mattress.

"Christine," he began apologetically.

"We thought we lost you," she interrupted softly. The pain and sadness in her voice frightened him. She took his hand and caressed it gently. She would not meet his eyes.

He frowned as memories of the battle played through his mind.

"Can you remember what happened?"

Aramis nodded slowly. He was aware of a headache forming – he must have hit his head at some point. He looked again at his brothers – D'Artagnan's head had a bandage wrapped around it, as did Athos' arm. Porthos too was covered in a series of visible bruises, and all of them were dusted with ash, including the Comtesse whose formal purple gown was dirty, the the voluminous skirts singed in many places.

"Ramero fell for our bait," Aramis said slowly. "They had D'Artagnan, but he managed to break Ramero's nose. I shot one of the thugs and then we fought…" Aramis hesitated so Athos continued.

"We managed to put an end to Ramero's henchmen for hire. Somehow during the altercation a torch was knocked aside and caused the tent to catch fire."

"Sorry about that," mumbled Porthos, and the others smirked slightly.

"You were fighting Ramero…" Athos prompted and Aramis nodded.

"Our plan was to force him back into the tent…things…didn't quite go as planned," he said a little bashfully. "I struck him down near the tent's entrance. He refused to show me his hands at first but he was slowly backing into the position we wanted him…Somehow he had managed to light the explosive. But he was too far out. You were all too close! I had to act," he said desperately, squeezing Christine's hand tightly. "I couldn't risk him hurting you," he said to her.

"I shot him. He was dead. The bomb was still too exposed. You were all exposed," he explained looking at the four sadly frowning faces that surrounded him. "I shot him and grabbed the bomb and ran with it into the tent…"

There was silence after this pronouncement.

"The explosion went off. Everything was in smoking ruin," Athos said quietly.

"We thought you had died," said Porthos angrily, tears filling his dark eyes again.

"How on earth did you survive?" D'Artagnan asked incredulously.

A look of confusion flickered across his face before Aramis smiled softly and pulled Christine's hand to his lips once more; he kissed her knuckles and stared deeply into her eyes. "I promised I'd come back to you," he said softly as silent happy tears fell from her jewel bright eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.

"It happened quickly. I didn't have much time to think," he said. "I knew I had to get the bomb to the middle of the tent…I threw it," he said sheepishly glancing quickly at the shocked look on Athos' face. "I tossed it into the centre of the tent then threw myself into one of the empty storage trunks as the blast went off. I must have hit my head in the explosion," he said warily, his hand delicately coasting over the back off his head. He winced slightly as it grazed a tender area. Christine pulled his hand away and held it against her chest.

"I'm not sure how long I was out for. I came to and was trapped in the trunk. It had protected me from the blast but I was trapped and couldn't breathe. I couldn't lift the lid…but I heard you," he said to Christine. "I heard you calling me. You were scared, so I started fighting and kicking at the lid."

"I thought I had lost you," Christine said miserably.

Aramis smiled tenderly at her and took her face in his hand once again. "I told you, mi tesora, you will never lose me. I'll always find a way back to you," he said, and she kissed him with all the joy and relief she felt knowing that he was safe in her arms again.

oOo

They were alone finally. The King had allowed Aramis to leave the palace, and after ensuring that his brothers were properly cared for and resting, Aramis returned with Christine to her home on rue St. Germain.

He had stumbled slightly on the stairs due to the after effects of his concussion and his sheer exhaustion, but she was at his side. They both revived with a hot bath and a hot bowl of food, before retiring to her bed for the remainder of the night.

She couldn't stop kissing him or just staring into his face, at his dark eyes that burned with life and mischief, and at his perfect mouth that seemed to be constantly seductively smirking and encouraging her.

She couldn't believe that he was safe, that she was holding him in her arms.

She felt that in that moment, when even Porthos seemed to have lost hope and they had collapsed to the ground, that her life would end. Now it was as if the whole world was new and bright and beautiful. She couldn't stop staring at him.

"Christine," he said, teasing her again. "You should try to sleep. I swear that I won't go anywhere if you close your eyes."

"I can't," she responded. "I can't believe you're actually here," she gushed. She sobered slightly and ran her fingers through his hair once more. "Aramis, mi Tesoro, I thought you were gone. I thought I had lost you. And we nearly did today…"

"Christine –" he began, but she cut him off and pressed her fingers to his lips, so he kissed them gently.

"Please don't say anything," she said. "I know that danger is part of your job, and I know that you did what you did to save me, your brothers, the King and all his courtiers, but if you are allowed take the risks, I should be allowed to show my fear, joy and relief in knowing how close we were to almost losing you but knowing now that you're safe."

He smiled sadly at her and she kissed his lips once again to illustrate her point.

"It's my turn," he said and held her face in his hands. "Christine, you saved me, you know?" She laughed lightly and dropped her eyes. He lifted her chin so he was again staring into the sparkling opals on her face. "I'm serious," he whispered, his own thumb tracing her bottom lip and coming to rest at the corner of her mouth.

"When I saw you out there, facing the danger to be by my side…I knew whatever happened, I had to save you. I promised Adam I would take care of you," he said softly, again gently brushing the pillow of her lips. "I had promised you I'd come back to you, but at the time my only thought was for your safety. I didn't think about my life. Only your face filled my mind...In those final moments before the eruption, I swore I'd find my way back to you somehow, even if…" He paused, his sad eyes staring deep within her.

"Aramis," she whispered, "I would have done anything to find you. Even if you were broken to a million pieces, I would have searched for every one to put you back together again. There is not a part of you that I could live without."

He smiled at her and kissed her again. To feel such love was the closest thing there was to heaven and together they embraced it fully.

oOo

There was a soft knock on the door the next morning as Marie led Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan into Christine's room. Aramis was sitting up in bed as Christine read to him. She closed her book and smiled warmly as she rose to greet their guests. She insisted D'Artagnan make himself comfortable in a winged armchair, knowing he too would be suffering from the effects of a concussion. Marie offered him a glass of water and he took it with a smile. She excused herself to gather a fresh tray of food for the new arrivals.

Aramis couldn't help but beam as Porthos pulled Christine into a tight embrace and she laughingly kissed his cheek. Athos and D'Artagnan chuckled softly as Athos took a seat on the settee.

In that moment, Aramis felt his heart brimming over with joy. Together, he knew, they would face the dangers from men like Ramero. They would continue to protect the innocent, and fight for the good. Together they would heal. They would protect each other, all of them. They would love each other wholly, just as they were. They were family.

It was through their love, that they would be able to conquer any loss.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm sorry and I love everyone who I may have given some anxiety to with my last cliffhanger. I hope this last chapter did the opposite and left you feeling warm and fuzzy. I'm very thankful to everyone who keeps reading, reviewing and writing me about this little saga and encouraging me to keep going with it. There's more adventures to come for the gang and Christine based on some suggestions I've received from you, so stay tuned! Cheers!**_


	54. The Ask

**_A/N: After some champagne and truffles for Valentine's Day, some of us get sappy. Here's a post-Valentine's Day "special". xoxoxo_**

* * *

The Ask

"You are getting to be too used to this," he said as he watched her from the infirmary doorway.

Christine laughed as she continued rolling bandages. "Well," she said, "If you musketeers didn't keep injuring yourselves I'd have a lot less to do."

"Did you ever consider that some of these gentlemen might be intentionally injuring themselves in order to have a few brief moments of your attention?" Aramis asked as he stepped behind her. He placed his hands upon her waist and kissed the side of her neck. She leant into him, her hand reaching backwards, her fingers lacing themselves in his hair.

"You have an active imagination," she said to him, smiling. Her eyes were closed as she savoured the feeling of his lips against her skin.

"And you have no idea how beautiful you are," he replied.

She turned to face him and he kissed her passionately. She wrapped her arms around his neck, as he traced her breastbone with his lips.

"Aramis," she murmured, "You need to stop. Don't you have duty?"

"Just finished," he said with the roguish grin that drove her crazy. "And you?" he asked as he teasingly toyed with the clasp of her bodice.

She pushed him away and smirked at his surprise. "I'm done as soon as I've finished putting away these bandages," she said. "Maybe you can keep your hands busy with that."

Aramis pouted. She pressed herself against him and kissed him, taking his lower lip softly between her teeth for a moment. "I've got a few other ideas to keep your hands busy when we get back to the house," she murmured. Aramis raised an eyebrow and grinned.

"Not sure I can wait that long," he said as his eyes travelled down her neck and rested on her bosom. He pulled her close so he could feel her heartbeat against his.

"Then summon the coach," she said as she pushed off of him again to refocus on the bandages. She smirked as his mouth fell open and his eyes sparkled.

oOo

The day was bright and sunny as Christine sat out on the lawn with the Queen. The Dauphin had been born several months ago, and this was the first luncheon that the Queen had been willing to take without his presence. She had insisted that they dine far removed from the castle and so they had ventured to a remote part of the grounds with their guard of four musketeers and the six servants who were preparing their meal.

Christine smiled at Aramis at his spot on the perimeter as she went to help herself to some water near where Athos stood.

And that's when the merriment ended.

A servant approached the Queen, carrying a tray with two wine glasses on it. As he bowed before her, he suddenly withdrew a pistol he had clasped in his hand hidden beneath the tray and pointed it at the Queen's temple.

"Drop your weapons, musketeers, or this fine lady dies!" said the man.

"Anne!" cried Christine as she beheld the situation. The other "servants" spread out, one to each musketeer, all equally armed. Another man joined the leader, replacing him as he too held his pistol against the Queen.

The leader cackled insanely. The others grinned menacingly.

"What a treat. What a treat!" he roared. "It looks as though we caught us some nobility!" he shouted. It appeared as though he did not recognize the Queen of France and had simply thought he had come upon another group of nobles who tended to hover around the palace. The man was clearly a lunatic.

"I suggest you put your weapons away and withdraw. You are clearly not of a sound mind if you think you will succeed here," Athos said dryly.

"And I said to drop your weapons," he said and pointed the pistol at Athos.

The musketeers had no choice; with the Queen's life in danger, they had to surrender their weapons. Athos dropped his pistol so it landed at Christine's feet.

"What do you want?" Christine demanded. "You are on the palace grounds. You will never escape. Tell us what you want so this can end."

The madman looked back over his shoulder at the man who still had his pistol pressed to the Queen's head. They grinned at each other.

"I like her," he laughed. "She's feisty!"

The surrounding bandits all chuckled. The musketeers tensed. The man watching Porthos pressed a gun against him as well, while Aramis and D'Artagnan were forced to their knees. Christine heard the click of the pistol of the man who stood behind her and Athos.

"Well my dear, we want to rob you. Though I thought we might have some fun first," he said, his Cheshire-like grin growing.

"We have nothing," whispered the Queen, her voice and body trembling.

"Au contraire," said the man holding her captive. "The jewels you're wearin' could set us all up pretty nicely," he sneered.

"You're insane," Athos stated.

"No, we're hungry," the leader responded. "So we will take our prize from you and we will kill you. We're glad you happened to choose this particular site to dine in. No one will even hear the pistol shots."

The Queen gasped. It had been her decision to dine so far from the palace.

"What game are you playing?" Aramis asked "Let the women go." His eyes traveled to Christine.

"Well now you've hit on it, Musketeer," said the leader of the group of maniacs. "It is a game. See, my friend Horace here," he said, gesturing to the large man holding the Queen, "Is of the belief that the nobility have no hearts. They know nothing about passion or compassion. How else could they let so many starve while they feast on delicacies on palace grounds? We thought we might even the score a little bit. You know, robbing the rich and giving to the poor. Namely, the poor us," he laughed.

"You've lost your minds," said D'Artagnan. "Let the women go and we will promise not to kill you all."

"Not until we play our game!" he cackled.

Athos had grown impatient. "What do you want?" he shouted. "If it's the jewels, take them and leave, though I swear to you, each one of you will die for this."

"Oooh, fiery," sneered the leader again, "You'll do nicely. Here's our little game then! Horace believes that the nobility are heartless. I, however, am a romantic. Prove me right. Show Horace that there are hearts behind your uniforms and ornate bodices."

"How do ya expect us to do that?" growled Porthos.

"Simple," he said, gesturing to Athos and Christine. "I want you to kiss her." Athos' eyes flashed with even more cold anger at the madman. "Prove that love and lust are possible emotions for your kind. If I believe there's passion in the embrace, we'll let you leave. Not with your fine items, but with your lives at least."

The musketeers fell silent as the lunacy of the situation sunk in.

"That is insane," said Christine finally, her eyes flickering to Aramis before casting around the circle of laughing villains. "Passion cannot be forced under duress!"

"Kiss him, or die my dear. And make it count," he said as he aimed both of his pistols at Athos and Christine.

"You will die for this," Athos said, stonily.

"Come now, sir, you should thank me. She's very beautiful. I for one should like her to remain so, but if you insist…" he focused his aim on Christine's head.

"Fine! It's fine. Just do it Athos, so no one will get hurt," Christine said as she turned to face him, her eyes blazing. She dropped her left hand and readjusted her skirt. Athos' eyes glimpsed the short dagger that Christine kept hidden at her hip. He placed his right hand upon the left side of her waist. She raised her hands to his neck.

All eyes were focused on the two of them; the madman beamed as he looked back at his friend Horace who sneered. Aramis was pale, his jaw taut; his eyes had grown cold.

Athos raised his hand and laced his fingers of his left hand through her hair.

"We only have one shot," he muttered in her ear. She nodded and pulling him close, stepping nearer to the discarded pistol. She took a deep breath and they kissed passionately as Athos' hand travelled down her side, each imagining the lips of another.

The madman cheered as their lips met and looked back at Horace who guffawed. The air was sucked out of Aramis. A cold stone had dropped into his stomach.

Suddenly, Christine dropped to the ground. A blade flashed in Athos' hand and a pistol shot rang out. Everyone stood stunned as the dagger embedded in the madman's throat, silencing his cheers, and Horace fell backwards, a bullet hole having forged its way through the middle of his forehead; the pistol was still smoking in Christine's hand.

In less than a second the musketeers took charge. Porthos smashed his head backwards into the face on the man behind him. He followed that with a fierce punch to the man's jaw. The snap of his neck was audible.

Aramis spun on his knees, grasping the wrist of his captor and turning the man's pistol upon its owner as the shot rang out. D'Artagnan leapt up, and batting away the pistol, he grabbed the man's dagger from its sheath and embedded it into him. Athos turned and grabbed the man holding the pistol behind him. They struggled for a moment before another blast went off and the man crumpled to the ground at his feet.

Christine had run to the Queen and helped her to take cover behind the chaise she had been resting on. Her eyes were wide and frantic.

"It's okay," Christine whispered, "It's okay, you're safe. You're safe. The Musketeers have protected you. You're safe," she repeated, caressing the Queen's hands. The Queen looked into her friend's eyes and nodded, calm settling into the blue orbs. As the firing and fighting stopped, the Queen let out a breath.

"Christine!" shouted Athos, as he cast his eyes around the carnage.

"We're here," she responded. "We're fine," she said as she helped the Queen to her feet. The Queen held tightly to Christine's hand.

"Porthos," said Athos, "Take Christine home. I saw two more figures flee through the surrounding trees. Aramis, D'Artagnan and I will return the Queen to the palace. Let's reconvene at the Garrison. See if any of your contacts at the Court have any information about this."

Porthos nodded as D'Artagnan rushed forward with the horses.

"With me, your Majesty," Athos said.

"Athos," she stammered, "Christine," she said turning to her friend and squeezing her hand tightly, "Thank you. Without you…"

"It doesn't matter," Christine said, placing her hand against the Queen's face. "Your musketeers will get you safely to the palace."

The Queen nodded and was lifted to her seat in front of Athos.

Christine stood back, her eyes desperate to find Aramis.

He had his back to her as he adjusted the girth strap on his mare.

"Aramis," she said and he tensed.

"Porthos will take you back," he said coldly as he mounted.

Christine stepped back from him as though scolded, her expression clouding over. He could not face her yet as his heart and his stomach continued to somersault after seeing the way Athos had kissed her and without another word he followed Athos across the vast palace lawns, his brow creased and his jaw set tight.

Porthos stared after the marksman, his expression dark as well. He placed a hand on Christine's shoulder and he felt her tremble slightly. Silently he helped her mount his horse and drew up behind her. Her back was tense and her expression lost.

Porthos rode quickly to the rue St. Germain. He led her into one of the parlours and told Marie to fetch something warm for Christine to eat. He poured her a large glass of brandy. She was still trembling slightly.

"You alright?" he asked her gently as he knelt and took her hands in his.

Her grey eyes were foggy. "I think so," she whispered. "I don't really know…Aramis…Aramis…is he alright? Was he hurt? I couldn't tell…"

"He's fine," Porthos said, squeezing her hands. "No one was hurt. You saved a lot of lives Christine. That was quite a shot."

She nodded slightly and looked down at her hands. "It doesn't get easier, does it?" she whispered. He could feel her hands shaking in his.

Porthos frowned. He realized suddenly that this was the second man Christine had killed. The second time her life had been physically threatened and she was forced to take a life.

"Porthos, please, tell Aramis I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, his voice displaying his shock.

"I think he's angry with me…He couldn't look at me after…the shot…or the kiss," she said weakly. "I think he feels…like I betrayed him. Please," she said. "Tell him I'm sorry," she said desperately.

Porthos' eyes grew dark as he thought about their departure from the palace. Aramis had been cold. Christine had just saved the life of the Queen of France. She was shaken by having to take another life, and when she reached out for her love to ensure his wellbeing, he had his back to her, overcome with his own emotions. If possible, Porthos frowned even deeper.

"I'll talk to him. He was probably just a bit shocked…I think we all were…and we had to get the Queen to safety," he said as he brought his hand up to cup the woman's face. "Marie will bring you something to eat. It'll help," he said. "I've got to meet the others. Don't worry. I'll look after Aramis."

"Thank you," she said and gave him a sad smile.

oOo

Athos and Aramis returned to the Garrison from the palace. D'Artagnan was to remain with the Queen until replacements arrived.

The pair rode in a tense silence before arriving at the empty courtyard. The sun had begun to set and the torches had been lit.

They dismounted and Athos cast a glance over at Aramis.

"Whatever's bothering you, speak it now," he said.

Aramis rounded on him, fire blazing in his eyes. "I will ask you this for the last time Athos," he said icily. "Are you in love with her?"

Athos stared back at his brother. "Aramis, are you mad? How could I love her when her world is entirely made up of you?" he made to turn away.

Aramis grabbed his shoulder and spun Athos to face him.

"That's not an answer," he growled.

Athos sighed. Then, looking his brother straight in the eyes and reading the hurt and confusion in their dark depths, he said slowly, "Yes Aramis, I do love her. But not in the way that you think."

Athos saw Aramis flinch at these words so continued swiftly. "Christine is my sister Aramis, as much as you and Porthos and D'Artagnan are my brothers. Having her back in my life has brought me more joy than I ever imagined," he said as Aramis wilted before him. He grasped the medic's arm, forcing the brown eyes to meet his. "That joy, Aramis, comes from seeing her happy and in love with you."

"But the kiss… it looked…" Aramis whispered, his eyes burning franticly.

"The kiss was a necessary diversion. There was no meaning other than desperation behind it. I knew Christine had been wearing her blade. I had dropped my pistol by her intentionally in case an opportunity arose. I do not love Christine as you do."

He sighed and continued. "If there was any passion that resided in that kiss, I am ashamed to admit it, but it was because my thoughts were elsewhere, as I'm sure it was not my lips that Christine imagined in that moment."

"I am sorry, brother," Aramis said, running his hands through his hair.

"Ya should be," called Porthos as he roared through the garrison gates and marched over to Aramis, thunder flashing in his eyes.

Aramis looked up, startled. "Porthos, what's wrong?"

"Do you have any idea what just happened?" he said, "Christine just killed someone. The second man who has threatened her life. She did it to save all of us and the Queen of France! And you, you let your jealousy over a stupid kiss cloud your mind so that you couldn't even look at her when she turned to you for comfort."

Silence rang throughout the courtyard. Aramis felt himself breaking at the realization of how he had acted.

Porthos went on, his voice dangerously low. "She was shaking, Aramis. Shaking! And when I got her inside, all she could think about was you. She was worried you were hurt, or were disgusted with her for the shot. Worse, she thought you were angry with her for being forced to kiss Athos."

"I'm sorry," Aramis said. "I didn't even think. I couldn't even...I saw…and then I…everything just went red. I need to go, I need to see her," he said desperately.

"Stay where you are," screamed a voice as Christine was shoved roughly through the garrison gates.

oOo

She had lurked in the shadows as the big musketeer left the house. Stealthily she crept inside. She found the noblewoman seated in a parlour, distracted. As she turned to face her, she struck her across the face and she fell from her chair.

"Get up," she growled lowly as she pointed her pistol at the comtesse at her feet. "Don't make a sound. You're going to pay for what you've done today."

Christine was forced to her feet. The irate woman clutched Christine by her hair and pressed the gun against her side as they walked quickly from the room and out the door. The streets of Paris were empty as most people would be turning in for supper. The sun was sinking redly behind the Parisian rooftops.

"Please," Christine said weakly, fighting to pull herself together as her captor tightened her grip, "You don't have to do this."

"The man you killed today was the love of my life and my best friend," she hissed, pulling Christine's head back viciously. She pressed the pistol harshly into her side as they marched. "You'll pay for taking him from me."

"Please," Christine tried again. "I had no choice! He was threatening the Queen."

"Silence!" she hissed, slamming the butt of the pistol into Christine's ribcage. Christine gasped harshly at the impact. "I'm going to make sure you feel the same loss I do," she said and continued to push Christine through the empty Parisian streets.

Christine's heart sank as she saw the garrison gates draw closer. She struggled, but another firm jab with the pistol stole the air from her lungs.

"Stay where you are!" the woman screamed as she threw Christine to the ground through the gates and pointed her pistol at her.

"Christine," gasped Aramis, glaring at the erratic woman who had her pistol trained on his love. "Let her go," he snarled.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Athos.

"Silence!" she screamed again. "Drop your weapons, all of you!"

The three men hesitated, then did what she said as the woman seized Christine and pulled her to her feet, the barrel of the pistol poised under her chin.

Aramis could see the blood on Christine's lip where it had split when she had been struck. His blood boiled and he fought to control it as the woman pressed the pistol's mouth against the neck of his beloved.

"Think about what you are doing," said Athos, "You are holding a prisoner in a musketeer garrison. There is no way you can escape this."

"There is nothing I have left to live for," she spat at him. "This witch murdered my husband and my best friend today. I'm going to make her feel my same loss," she cried.

"How?" asked Porthos

"By making her choose, which one of them is going to die. The friend or the lover," she snarled.

"What?" said Christine, breathlessly.

"Oh yes," the woman hissed into her ear. "It's actually quite generous of me. You can choose whether to save your friend," she said pointing the pistol at Athos, "Or your lover," she said turning it on Aramis. "Don't tell me I'm wrong. I saw everything that happened on the grounds today. I know that this man is your lover even if those men were too blind to see it. Pick now, who will die. You will add one of their bloods to your hands today. Then you will understand my loss and all that you took from me!"

There was silence for a moment as Christine's gaze darted between the two men. "Please," she said desperately, "You cannot ask me to choose."

"Ask? Ask! I am demanding it! I will ensure that you can feel my loss!"

"Loss?" spat Aramis with a quick glance at Athos. "Some loss. If anything, you should be thanking us for ridding society of that scourge."

"Come now Aramis, look at this lunatic. Perhaps that was the best she could hope to get," said Athos raising an eyebrow as he shifted to look at the marksman.

"Quite right, mon ami," he said casually. "Actually, he's probably grateful his suffering has ended. He was practically asking us for a way out. Horace, was it?"

"Indeed. Can you imagine a worse fate than waking up to a wretch like this each morning?" he said, as they baited the woman, buying time.

"Shut up," she said, her voice full of rage. "Perhaps I should just kill her instead," she said pushing Christine forward again so she stood between Athos and Aramis.

Aramis laughed to hide his tension. "You know what Athos? He probably didn't even need to suffer that much. A tall, handsome man like that? He probably had many women waiting on the side."

"Without a doubt," said Athos, "And could you blame him?"

"Silence," she roared, her arms shaking as she shifted the barrel between Athos and Aramis. "He loved me. And I loved him. He loved me, I know it," she said hysterically.

Quietly, D'Artagnan entered the garrison from behind her, his pistol drawn. "Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth or she dies," she said ferociously.

Aramis laughed once more in her face. "Love? You think that was love? How could any man love such a vile, twisted thing like you?"

With a scream she swung the gun to face Aramis.

"No!" cried Christine.

Two shots rang out and the woman fell to the ground, D'Artagnan's pistol smoking in his hand.

"Good shot," said Aramis as Porthos and Athos restrained the now sobbing and hysterical woman. D'Artagnan's shot had pierced her shoulder. Without another word, Porthos led her out of the garrison and towards the Chatelet.

"Good work," said Athos, smirking slightly at Aramis. "Did you see where her shot went?" he asked.

"Aramis?" whimpered a voice, and both men spun around to face Christine. She looked down at her side and removed her hand from where it was pressed. Scarlet was blossoming beneath it through the layers of her pale gown. She sank slowly to the ground and time stood still.

"Christine," Aramis exhaled, as the life drained from him. His eyes flashed as he leapt to her side. "Christine! What did you do?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, bringing her bloodstained hand to touch his face. Her breathing was laboured. "I couldn't let her hurt you," she said as she continued to struggle to breathe, her eyes closing.

"Christine! Christine!" he cried desperately as he held her against him. He looked down at her gown and the growing red stain and went into action. "We need to get this dress off her!" he cried frantically.

Grasping the knife Athos handed him, Aramis sliced through the bindings of her corset and desperately tore the bodice off of her. He scooped her into his arms and ran for the infirmary.

oOo

Several hours had passed and the dawn light was just beginning to filter into the garrison. Aramis had moved her into his quarters where he sat next to the bed, his head bowed, as he prayed fervently over her. She lay pale and unmoving in his bed, dressed in one of his shirts – her blood-covered shift was draped with her skirts and ruined bodice on the chair by the table.

Tears continued to roll down Aramis' cheeks as he looked at her. Reaching out, he stroked her face, touching her cheek, her eyes, her lips. He placed his hand once again over her heart to confirm its soft thrum. He cried and he kissed her and he prayed.

The bullet wound wasn't too deep, but she had bled profusely, and knowing how exhausted she had been from the earlier events of the day – the stress he had put her through, he reprimanded himself harshly – it was unsurprising that she had succumbed to this deep unconscious state.

"Please lord, please," he prayed desperately. "Don't take her from me, please. I know I don't deserve your mercy, but please Lord, please. Don't take her from me. Please…" he prayed as he dropped his head to the mattress, trying to stifle the tears that continued to fall.

He stayed that way for hours, desperately praying for his miracle as his love lay motionless.

Slowly, her fingers began to twitch; Aramis did not notice through his desperation.

Gently she raised her hand and began to stroke Aramis' hair. He bolted upright at the touch, grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her palm, her fingertips and the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat.

"Aramis," she muttered groggily as she slowly began to open her eyes.

"I'm here mi Tesora, I'm here," he said. He sat next to her on the bed and placed her hand over his heart. With his free hand he cradled her face.

She smiled softly at his words. "You're alright," she murmured.

"I'm fine love, I'm fine. You stepped in front of a bullet for me. Are you mad?" he said exasperatedly.

"I couldn't let her hurt you…not with you thinking…not without explaining…I love you Aramis. I'm sorry," she stammered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling. I'm the one who should be ashamed for how I acted. I was jealous. All I could see was the way you kissed him. All I saw was how he kissed you, and everything just went black as the my soul had been pulled from my body... I should have comforted you. I should have insisted that I take you home. I should have held you and made sure you were ok, but at that moment, all I could see was the two of you – my brother and you…the thing I cherish most. I couldn't process it…"

"Shh…mi cuorazon, mi Tesoro," she whispered to him, "It's ok, I understand," she said. She grimaced as she tried to raise herself to lean against the wall. He deftly placed a pillow behind her so she was more comfortable. She gasped in pain as she felt the damage to her side. His dark eyes filled with tears.

"You have two broken ribs," he said softly. "The bullet…Your bodice slowed its impact so it hit no major organs but you bled heavily."

"Nothing vital," she whispered, "but it feels like I've been struck by a cannon."

"Nothing vital?" he asked her incredulously. "How could you say that? How could you do that? Christine, do you not know how _vital_ you are? Do you not know that you are everything to me?" he said, tears in his eyes once more.

"When I saw you fall, the world ended," he said and gathered her face in his hands, her eyes shining fiercely with tears of their own. "Why would you do that? I am worth nothing compared to you, Christine. Would you seriously give your life for mine?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said firmly, anger tingeing her tone as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Yes Aramis. Yes. I would give up everything – my lands, my title, my life. Everything for you. Everything. I don't know what it will take for you to believe me, to understand me, but YOU are MY world. You are all that matters to me. Can you not accept the same love that you have given me? If you were to ask me I'd give it all away if it meant that I could have you always."

Her eyes burned into his as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She gasped slightly as she pressed their foreheads together and the pain flared again in her side as she leant towards him but she ignored it.

"I will love you forever," he said, brushing the hair from her face once more and kissing her fiercely.

"And I will love you longer than that," she teased him breathlessly. He helped her lean against the wall once more. "This really hurts," she whined with a small laugh.

"Thank goodness you had all those bandages prepared," he laughed as he joyfully kissed her again and thanked God for the miracle of their love.

oooooooooooooooooo


	55. Equals, Ch 1

_**A/N: It's been a while since I've gotten back to this series, so thank you to everyone who's still reading! I hope you enjoy this next adventure in my little love story. As always, I love to hear from you, so if you're inclined, drop me a note :-) Cheers!**_

* * *

Equals

Chapter 1

The sun was shining brightly overhead, beaming down upon the rooftops, carriage tops and the tops of the heads of the residents of Paris.

The two musketeers passed between the vendors' carts, one chatting amicably while the other smiled, his head lowered but his eyes bright. The one musketeer asked the other a question to which there was no response. He tried again, but once more his companion did not answer. It seemed as though he was lost in some sort of recollection of his own – and it was a sweet one if the smile on his lips, the sparkle in his eyes and the touch of pink on his cheeks were of any indication.

"Aramis! Are ya listenin' to me?" said a now annoyed voice startling the marksman from his pleasant reverie.

"What? No, sorry," he said looking apologetically at Porthos as they set out for their guard duty at the palace.

Porthos teased his friend with an arch of his eyebrow, "Distracted?"

Aramis smiled. "It seems like always these days."

"At least since she came back to Paris," Porthos said with a knowing smirk.

Aramis grinned and cast his eyes downward once again. Porthos gave him a wink and a soft nudge with his elbow.

Aramis looked up into the face of his friend and grinned even wider. "I can't help it," he said with a soft laugh. "Even when I'm not with her I'm thinking about her constantly. I feel as though I've been walking in a dream since our return to the city even though that was months ago," he said.

"We've noticed," Porthos said teasingly.

Porthos could wish for nothing better for his brother than this love he had found. Christine was Aramis' second half – the part to complete him that he had been searching for on the battlefields, the church pews and the beds of countless women across Paris. That was until that fateful day in the marketplace...

The passion between them was obvious and it seemed to grow with every passing moment. Christine seemed to bring out the best in the man – a man Porthos knew to be among the best in France if not the world. And Christine, in her own way, had situated herself into his, Athos, Aramis and D'Artagnan's close-knit family. She was funny and intelligent, but she was also warm, generous, and kind.

Once a well-known lothario, Porthos was certain that Aramis had not noticed whether a single other woman had even drawn breath since he had met Christine. She had become his entire world, a feeling that Porthos knew she reciprocated. He smiled at this thought and was startled slightly when Aramis halted suddenly.

"Porthos," he said seriously, "I think…I think I'm going to ask Christine to marry me," Aramis said, a mixture of elation, excitement and a hint of fear registering on the man's face.

Porthos let loose a booming laugh as he clapped his brother on the back. "Well of course," he roared. "Known that since ya first met and you came to the garrison spewin' about angels in the marketplace."

Aramis looked at him flabbergasted and then grinned.

Porthos laughed again, "We've all been wonderin' when you'd finally come to your senses and strike up the nerve."

Aramis looked sheepish and ran a hand through his hair. His face clouded over. "If we married, I would have to resign my commission," he said.

Porthos looked at him. "Maybe," he grumbled, suddenly serious, "but she's a Comtesse who works as a medic, I'm sure you could be a Comte that serves as a musketeer. Besides, wouldn't she be worth it?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes," said Aramis, a smile coming to his face when he thought about his Christine. "If anything was, it would be her."

Porthos laughed and thumped him on the back once more. "So, how're you gonna do it?"

oOo

It was a beautiful day in Paris.

Or it would have been if the Comtesse des Etoilles had been able to enjoy it as she wanted. Instead she was attending to her duty, representing the people of her town among the select number of nobles asked to attend at court that day.

It was hot in the throne room, and the sunlight streaming in through the large paned windows seemed to be taxing King Louis as he sat on his throne listening to one of his courtiers rant.

"Nobility is a birth right, handed down to us by God. It is the natural order of things. My only concern is for the recent over-saturation of your Majesty's court," oozed the Baron de Carbonne with fervour.

"If France is to be seen as a modern nation, we must accept that times are changing," said Louis plaintively, his hand moving to his temple.

"Yes, of course your Majesty. And France will lead modernization in its scientific, literary and cultural knowledge and with the superior might of its army, but to dilute your court with those that are so much…lesser…I only fear for how other nations may interpret our country's standing," said the Baron.

A murmur rose through the assembled courtiers.

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but nobility, honour and worth should be determined by a man's actions and not merely through his bloodline. There are many men and women without a title in your Kingdom who serve you faithfully and have done more to promote and defend the exceptionality of France than many of the nobility who simply reap the benefits of their taxes collected, but can rarely be bothered to even attend court," said Christine, stepping forward to address the King.

"A very good point," said the King.

"Well, it's not surprising that the Comtesse des Etoiles would argue such things. Her family has always had mixed blood," the Baron sneered.

A few people gasped at this response.

Christine turned slightly red at this remark but she smothered her anger and faced the Baron coldly, "My family has always put more value in the soul of a man than in his title. Impeding progress for the sake of archaic beliefs of greater or lesser, based solely on the merits of our ancestors, will see France left behind. It is action, not namesake that we should be honouring."

The King rose after this statement. "Yes, a lively discussion, one that we will pursue at another time, my dear Comtesse. Come, Baron, join me for lunch. I'm eager to hear of your new stallion," he said, dismissing the court as he left the room with the Baron.

The Queen stepped down from the dais and approached her friend. "Come," she said, taking Christine's arm, "Walk with me," she said and escorted her from the room trailed by two ladies in waiting. She nodded at Porthos and D'Artagnan to follow, both their eyes burning fiercely with pride as they gazed upon the Comtesse. She gave them a small smile as they fell in behind the Queen and her party.

"You really mustn't provoke the Baron like that Christine," the Queen said softly as they made their way across the gardens.

"I'm sorry your Majesty, but how can I keep quiet when such absurdities are uttered at court?" she said. "I have spoken with the King and yourself countless times about the goodness of the common man. Why should they be not represented in court?"

"I understand your frustration," the Queen replied, "But you must understand Louis' need to placate the court. His kingdom relies upon keeping the peace with his landowning noble courtiers. An uprising would be devastating."

Christine sighed. "I'm not asking that any lands or rights be stripped from these nobles; I simply question why we are so afraid to acknowledge the importance of the work of the people by allowing them to attend and have their voices heard at court. Should we not ask the farmer who feeds Paris how we can better the lives of its people?"

The Queen sighed and squeezed her hand. "You know I agree with you. And we are working so one day this will come to be, but you must be patient, my dear Christine. Not everyone is as forward thinking or as good as you are," she said with a smile.

Christine smiled back. "I am glad to know that at least you are," she said, "And I will try to be more patient and control my temper. It must come from my mixed common blood," she said with a grin.

The Queen laughed, "Mine is often blamed on my Spanish blood!"

The women and their escorts stepped under the arched walkway leading back to the palace. They had only passed the second buttress when suddenly something plummeted from the roof of the gabled path.

A young woman hung from the end of a noose.

oOo


	56. Equals, Ch 2

Equals

Chapter 2

The body hung lifelessly from the end of its tether, the woman's voluminous skirts fluttering coquettishly as she swayed in a morbid mockery of the women bearing witness. The ladies in waiting screamed at the sight.

Christine turned the Queen from the grizzly display and pulled her against her as Porthos and D'Artagnan ran to try to free the woman.

"Anne, Anne, don't look," Christine soothed as she held the Queen against her, shielding her from the gruesome sight. The Queen shook and pressed her eyes closed as Christine held her close.

More guards and musketeers had flocked to them when the screams had gone up. Aramis was kneeling next to the body of the woman. Porthos and D'Artagnan had run to the second floor in the hopes of apprehending whoever had perpetuated this horrid display. Aramis looked grim as he shut the eyes of the woman. She was dead.

Athos commanded the guards to escort the Queen and her ladies inside.

"Athos," called Christine, as a guard forced the Queen into the palace. "Athos, I know her," said Christine with a hollow voice.

Athos nodded. "Stay with her Majesty. Aramis will come for you once we have taken control of the situation," he said.

Christine nodded and followed the Queen up to her apartments.

oOo

Athos commanded the other musketeers to keep the area clear, then went to stand by Aramis.

He was examining the rope that had been fastened around the girl's neck.

"What have you found?" he asked the medic.

Aramis sighed. "The girl was dead before her body was desecrated this way. These ligature marks were made by a pair of hands, not by a rope. Whoever did this wanted to shame her. Look," he said, passing Athos a placard. "This was hanging around her neck."

Athos turned the board over. The word "Whore" was written across it in red.

Porthos and D'Artagnan came sliding into view.

"Any signs?" Athos asked.

Porthos growled. "Only the one you're holdin'. We couldn't get there fast enough once we cut the girl down. The bastard must have taken off quickly and blended in amongst the people inside. No one seemed disturbed by a fleein' murderer."

"He must have been dressed as either a servant or a noble," echoed D'Artagnan.

"This rope," Aramis said standing. "It looks as though it was only used for this purpose. It's high quality – expensive and there are no signs of wear," he said.

"Who would do this?" D'Artagnan whispered, his eyes drifting from the girl to the slur in Athos' hand.

"A monster," said Athos as he saw Captain Treville making his way towards them.

Aramis explained what they had so far discovered and Treville nodded grimly.

"Have the body removed to the morgue," he said. "The King and the Queen should not see this."

"This happened in front of the Queen," Porthos rumbled. "She was with Christine when this happened. Christine shielded her from it as much as she could…"

Treville's mouth tensed.

"She also recognized the girl," Athos said.

"Where is she now?" asked Treville.

"I sent her with the guards and the Queen's entourage. She's comforting the Queen. I said we would send for her once the situation was under control."

Treville nodded. "Bring her to the morgue to examine the body and confirm the identity," he said, his eyes flickering from Athos to the grim face of Aramis. "We'll reconvene at the garrison. I need to inform the King of what happened."

"He should be dining with the Baron de Carbonne," said D'Artagnan.

Treville nodded and left the terrace to deliver the grim news to the volatile monarch.

oOo

Aramis knocked before entering the Queen's apartments.

He saw Christine pacing by the window. The door to the Queen's bedchamber was slightly ajar.

Christine ran to Aramis as he entered and he engulfed her in his arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she muttered. Aramis lifted her chin in his hand and looked her in the eyes, his eyebrow raised sceptically. She looked down. "To be honest," she whispered, "I'm not really sure how I feel."

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "How is the Queen?" he asked.

"Shaken," she replied, "But she's strong. She's resting now."

"Should you leave her? I need you to come with me to the morgue to properly identify the body," he said delicately.

Christine bit her lip.

"I am fine, my friend," came a voice from behind them. Christine spun and rushed to the Queen's side. Aramis bowed as he took in her pale complexion.

"Anne," Christine began, addressing the Queen as she only did when they were in private.

The Queen shook her head. "I am alright," she said. "Shaken yes, but unharmed. Go," she said. "Help them find out what monster could have done this," she said, taking Christine's hands and holding them against her chest.

Christine smiled at her and squeezed her hands and gave them a quick kiss. Grey eyes met blue, which burnt with resolve.

"Aramis," called the Queen as they made to leave the chamber, "keep her safe."

"I swear," he said with a bow and they exited the room.

oOo

The morgue was cool despite the heat of the day, causing the walls to glisten slightly with condensation. Aramis helped Christine descend the steps to the depths where they met Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan who were gathered around the table. A sheet covered the body.

As she stepped towards the table Porthos gave her shoulder a quick squeeze of comfort. She had been closest to the grim action and had acted out of duty and friendship to shelter the Queen. Sometimes Porthos thought that Christine was as deserving of a pauldron as any of the musketeers.

Christine stood next to the table and Aramis slowly drew the sheet back from the young woman's face. The lifeless body was already tinged with blue. Her neck was a lattice of bruises, many of which Christine's medical-mind deduced happened posthumously. She stared into the face of the girl that lay on the table and pressing her fingers first to her own lips, she laid them on the girl's forehead. Then she closed her eyes and stepped away from the table.

"Cover her, please," she whispered as she felt Aramis' arms encircle her. She swallowed thickly.

"Christine…" Athos said. Aramis shot him a fierce look.

Christine opened her eyes and gazed at Athos. "This is Marie Pont-Neuf…was… She was engaged to a man named Marius, the Viscomte de Coulombe. She was such a sweet girl. And they were so in love. Someone will need to tell him…"

Athos nodded. "Marie…was she popular at court?"

Christine frowned. "She was new. She and Marius only became engaged recently. She made her court debut only about a month ago – after the engagement."

"Is there any way she could have made any enemies in her time there?"

Christine shook her head. "No. Impossible. She was a shy, and quiet girl, but clever and sweet when she did speak."

"What motive could anyone have for harming her?" D'Artagnan asked incredulously.

Christine shook her head. "I don't know," she said, "but jealousy can be ugly. The Viscomte was considered a very eligible bachelor. I can imagine that some of those at court could be upset by the engagement."

"But upset enough to kill her?" D'Artagnan said, the disgust and incomprehension clear in his voice.

Christine and Athos made eye contact but said nothing. They knew about the dangers and politics of court and the lengths some would go to in order to increase their power, wealth or favour with the King.

"We should rendezvous with Treville. He may have more questions for you."

"Athos," said Aramis fiercely, his dark eyes glaring at the swordsman.

"It's okay," she said, placing her hand on his chest. "Whatever I can do to help."

He looked at her, his eyes full of concern.

"Please," she said as she stared back at him.

He ran a hand through his hair. She caught it, and rested her hand at the base of his neck. He sighed and nodded, and they left the morgue and returned above ground to the garrison.

oOo


	57. Equals, Ch 3

Equals

Chapter 3

Christine recounted her information in Treville's office. The older musketeer nodding as she explained the situation of the couple at court. Treville had been a witness to the dirt and deviance that dwelt at court for long enough to know the dangers that Christine spoke of.

"You three, find this Viscomte," he instructed Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan. "Perhaps the bridegroom got cold feet and saw this as an easy way out of an engagement. Aramis, stay with Christine."

"Sir, I'm fine," she said, but the Captain interrupted.

"You were with the Queen when this happened. Until we learn more information, we cannot be sure who the intended target was for this display."

"You don't think Christine – " Porthos began, his eyes narrowed.

"We don't know what the motive was for this attack. I won't have her left unprotected until we can establish the cause for this abomination."

"I am expected to be at court tomorrow. I have agreed to dine with the King," she said.

"The musketeers and palace guards will protect you while in the palace. However, I insist on a musketeer escort to and from the Palace grounds until this guilty party is caught," he said sternly, then softening his tone, "Please," he added.

She looked into the Captain's eyes and was shocked to see the worry that lingered in their blue depths.

She nodded at him and he replied with a curt "Dismissed."

Aramis placed a hand on her waist and guided her out the door behind the others.

Once the five had gone, Captain Treville let out a sigh as he shuffled some of the papers on his desk. Treville cared about all his men, and though he hated to admit it, more often than not his thoughts strayed to the wellbeing of these four, his best, and the ones he turned to for his most important missions.

When she entered into the life of his marksman and was embraced as a comrade and sister by the other three – and by the entire regiment, he thought – he could not help admitting his own fondness and protectiveness encircling Christine as well. She had suffered and she had served within this garrison, facing dangers and making sacrifices that a woman of her birth would never have been asked to make. She had become almost like a daughter to him, in as much of a way that those four were sons. He would sacrifice his life for any of them, so his desire to ensure her safety was only natural.

oOo

Athos, D'Artagnan and Porthos stood at the end of a great hall as the young Viscomte approached them. The man was pale and shaking. His eyes were red and puffy. Clearly, he had received word of the passing of his betrothed.

Athos stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Your Grace, we've come to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts for the past 24 hours," he said. "A woman was found dead at the palace," he said without preamble.

"Marie," he whispered, his voice breaking. He nodded sadly as his eyes filled with tears.

Athos hesitated, seeing the man's desolation, but proceeded. "We need to know if there's any reason someone would want to cause her harm."

Fear bloomed in the man's eyes as they swung around the room. He shook his head.

Athos glanced at Porthos at the man's reaction. "Are you certain?" Athos asked again.

He swallowed thickly, shaking his head again. "She wouldn't hurt a fly. How could someone do this?" the man cried.

"Do you know if her family has been told?" D'Artagnan asked, looking at the man.

"She doesn't have any family. Her parents have both passed. She was a maid here," he said by way of explanation.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" cried a stern voice. The Comte de Coulombe marched towards the musketeers. "Can't you see my son is distraught?"

The young man's eyes widened as he saw his father approaching.

"Don't say another word Marius. I insist you gentlemen leave at once," the Comte demanded.

Athos' eyes sparked. "A young woman was murdered. Her body was desecrated and put on display like a petty criminal, cast aside like it was worthless. We are trying to bring the villains who did this to her to justice," he said coldly.

"If you can think of something, anything that might help us find her murderer, please let us know," said D'Artagnan, his eyes seeking the Viscomtes' as they turned and left the grand home.

oOo

"Aramis," Christine asked, turning to look at him as they entered the library on rue St. Germain. "What's wrong? What is troubling you?"

"I'm not sure," he said as he lowered himself onto the couch. She quickly took her place next to him, taking his hands and seeking his eyes. Taking his chin in her hand, she raised his face to meet her eyes.

"Tell me," she said, her blue-grey eyes sparkling with concern.

"I would if I could my love, believe me," he said, giving her a soft smile. "It's just a feeling I have," he said as he kissed the inside of her wrist.

Her eyes flashed in alarm. She knew to trust his instincts in these matters, but when he himself couldn't name the danger…

Seeing the concern growing in her eyes, he shook his head and smiled at her. "Come now, it's probably nothing. I shouldn't worry you needlessly."

She took his face in both her hands and kissed the worry lines from his forehead. He closed his eyes and she pressed her lips gently against his closed eyelids.

He smiled at her as she kissed both his temples, her hands moving to massage his neck. Instinctively his arms found their way around her as her lips breezed across his.

"I thought I was supposed to be comforting you," he said.

"Believe me, mi tesoro, I'm very comfortable," she breathed as she pulled him closer.

Further words weren't needed as he kissed her again, and any previous cares were forgotten. Laughing, she led him to the bedchamber.

oOo

Aramis and Christine were the picture of happiness as he escorted her to the palace the next morning, her arm gripped tightly in his, their fingers laced together. Porthos couldn't help grinning as he watched as the marksman led her up the stairs and taking her chin in his hands he kissed her. She blushed slightly before grinning at him as he kissed the inside of her wrist and made his way towards Porthos.

Aramis beamed at Porthos as he jogged towards him.

"So? Did you ask?" Porthos said. He couldn't keep the joy and laughter from his voice.

"Not yet," said Aramis with a grin. "Trust me, mon ami, when I do, you'll be the first to know," he said as he clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"I'll just listen for the wails of the women of Paris," Porthos said, a twinkle in his eye. Aramis laughed as they set off for the garrison.

Athos and D'Artagnan intersected them as they approached the garrison gates. The smiles on the brawler and the marksman vanished instantly.

"There's trouble. Another body has been found," said Athos.

oOo


	58. Equals, Ch 4

_**A/N: Thanks to everyone for continuing to read and comment on this story. The next part might be a bit graphic for some, so please be warned! Thanks!**_

* * *

Equals

Chapter 4

The musketeers re-entered the morgue and were greeted by the mortician who was as grim as his calling.

"I warn you," he said lifting the sheet, "This one's not pretty."

Porthos gasped when he saw the body and D'Artagnan turned away.

On the table lay the body of a slightly older noblewoman. Streaks of silver were visible in her hair. She was still beautiful despite her age. She had worn her dress low, her shoulders exposed in an attempt to appear more youthful. The dress was made of the richest fabric. It was damp to the touch. There was bruising on her neck, but it was what was below her throat that had so unsettled the musketeers.

Just above her bodice, the words "Common Whore" had been carved into the flesh of her chest.

"She was found on the street," the mortician said. "It had rained last night."

"She was also strangled to death," Aramis said softly, raising the sheet to cover the offensive words.

"Is that what killed her?" Porthos asked sadly.

Aramis nodded his head. "If this…if this had been done while she was alive, the front of her dress would have been soaked through with blood…despite the rain," he said as he crossed himself and blessed the woman before covering her completely.

"Do we know who she is?" D'Artagnan asked. His eyes were brimming. Seeing this devastation, what had been done to these women, was proving to be difficult for the young Gascon to bear.

"This was the Madame de Maronne. A Baroness. She was a good woman," said Aramis sadly. The others didn't need to ask how he knew.

"Can you think of a reason that someone may have wanted to hurt her?" Athos asked softly, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Aramis sighed under the comfort of the pressure of the man's hand. He turned to look at him, his dark eyes filled with the sorrow that Athos felt was far too frequently present in his sensitive brother; this always lit a fire of vengeance in Athos against whoever brought pain to the brother he loved.

"Madame de Maronne hosted one of the liveliest salons in Paris. Porthos and I have been on many occasions. The Baroness had no children, but I had heard that recently she had taken a new lover – one of her grooms. It was said the two were even considering marriage."

"Should we take him in for questioning?" D'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. "I don't think so. It's not the crime that has me unsettled, but the way the bodies are being shamed after the women are deceased. "Common Whore" scarred across the breast of a noble woman? What did these women have in common?"

"They are both flouting the system," Aramis said morosely. "Marie was marrying up, while the Baroness would be seen to be marrying beneath her."

Athos nodded grimly. "We need to find who's responsible and end this. Now. Before any others are hurt."

"We should go back and speak to the Viscomte. He may have something to tell us if his father is away," said Aramis.

D'Artagnan looked thoughtful. "I think we should pay a visit to the Baron de Carbonne as well," he said slowly. The others turned to look at him. He blushed slightly, but stood his ground.

"The Baron was with the King when Marie's body was discovered," said Athos.

"I know, but he was arguing with Christine the other day about the value of the nobility over the common man. It might be nothing, but it could be a lead…" said D'Artagnan

"I agree," said Porthos. "He was getting very heated. Didn' like the way he spoke abou' Christine's family neither."

"Good suggestion D'Artagnan. Let's split up. Aramis, you and Porthos track down the Viscomte. D'Artagnan and I will speak with the Baron."

oOo

The two musketeers stood silently in the marble parlour as they waited for the Baron.

"Gentlemen," he said curtly as he entered the room and took his seat behind his desk. He removed his gold pocket watch and pointedly opened it and set it on the surface in front of him. Athos bit his cheek.

"Thank you for speaking with us, Your Grace," D'Artagnan ventured.

"Of course," said the man calmly. "When the King's musketeers ask for the assistance of their betters, it is my duty to at least hear their troubles." His arrogance was so strong it wafted off him like an odour. Perhaps that was why he was so heavily perfumed, D'Artagnan thought.

"We are looking into the murders of two women of the court – Marie Pont-Neuf and the Baroness de Maronne."

"It's a shame," said the man indifferently. "Sometimes however a garden needs to be weeded in order for the rest of the plants to prosper," he said.

"These were two innocent women." D'Artagnan said coldly.

"Then I'm sure they will be rewarded in the afterlife. I am not sure how I can assist you in your quest. Their deaths are tragic, yes. Do I mourn for them? I cannot honestly say that I do. One dared to tarnish an ancient house with the slime from the floors that she should have been mopping, and the other, a grown woman playing at the debutante and threatening to throw her lands, her title and her honour away on some stable boy?" The man's face appeared as though it was carved from stone, unflinching as it delivered these cold words with a masterful indifference. "I will not mourn their deaths. Perhaps the Baroness's nephew will do a better job of running the estate. Weeds like these need to be pulled."

"Even if these weeds were to reside in your own garden?" Athos asked.

The Baron looked at Athos, surveying his face and countenance. "I know you," he said. "You are Guillaume's son. The Comte de la Fere."

"I am that no longer," Athos said, ice in each word at the mention of his father and his former title.

"Your father would be ashamed of what you have brought your estate to. You are a disgrace to all those whose name you bear. You were unworthy of all that was bestowed upon you."

"I shall take that as a compliment," Athos said, and turning on his heel, he and D'Artagnan left the parlour without being dismissed, leaving the Baron fuming.

oOo

Back at the garrison, the musketeers recounted their findings for Treville.

The captain frowned as he listened to Athos' description of their meeting with the Baron.

"I thought the Baron was with the King when the body was discovered?" he said, narrowing his eyes at the flush that had crept into Athos' normally controlled face as he spoke.

D'Artagnan began, "That was my suggestion sir…The Baron had made some comments –"

Athos interrupted, "The Baron has been known on more than one occasion to discriminate against anyone that he deems below him. The comments he made to us were – "

"Did anyone see the Baron anywhere near the scene of the crimes?" said Treville stopping his lieutenant before he could continue his diatribe.

Athos took a deep breath to collect himself. "No, but Aramis has said that both women were murdered before their bodies were desecrated the way they were."

Treville's blue gaze flickered to Aramis who straightened slightly and nodded firmly in support of his brother. Treville sighed and closing his eyes for a moment, he brought his hand up to console his temple.

"The Baron and the Comte are currently in close favour with the King – we won't be able to confront them again without some hard evidence."

"But Captain – "

"Hard evidence. The King will not hear of any ills against them without it. Understood?"

His men nodded, accepting the challenge.

Treville looked at his musketeers and felt that familiar tingling at the base of his neck that seemed to flare up whenever these four had that look…

He dismissed them and hoped that they would somehow be able to find those responsible for these murders without getting themselves into trouble too.

oOo

"So, what's the plan?" Porthos asked as the musketeers left Treville's office and assembled at their usual table.

"We find these monsters before anyone else is hurt," snapped Athos. Porthos and D'Artagnan frowned at their brother's response.

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked softly.

Athos spun sharply but stopped short at the worried expressions on the faces of the others. Three differing sets of brown eyes full of concern stared back at him.

"I'm sorry…this whole scenario, where these women are targeted for not adhering to the class system at court…it's bringing up foul memories and anger that I thought I was long rid of." He took a deep calming breath before continuing. "It's difficult to describe what kind of a hell I grew up in – especially since I know how privileged I was. I never had to worry about where our food was coming from or worry about the weather or work or if there'd be wood in the fire. Day after day though I was taught that as the future Comte, I was somehow better than other people – still not as good as my parents wanted me to be, but I was forbidden to socialize with anyone whose status was beneath mine. And they were strict about it. I was lonely, and I didn't understand – couldn't understand – how the odds of my birth made me different from anyone else."

Athos cleared his throat. "Speaking with the Baron…knowing the fervour with which some people cling to these archaic beliefs…I feel the same frustration I did as a boy at the injustice of it all."

The men were silent for a moment as they imagined the harshness of Athos' upbringing.

"I'm sorry Athos. I shouldn't have mentioned the Baron," D'Artagnan began.

Athos shook his head. "No, you were right to. I believe it's still a good lead. We just need to find a way to prove that the he was somehow involved in these murders."

He frowned again and Aramis reached out to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Athos, you are not the man that your family tried to force you to be. You are better," he said, his eyes blazing brightly.

Athos smiled softly. "Was there any luck with the Viscomte?"

"We found the Viscomte in an inn. It seemed as though he has spent his inheritance on cheap wine," Porthos reported. "He knows something, but he's too far gone right now to be of use," he said.

"What do we do now?" D'Artagnan asked.

"We wait. We need to get the Viscomte to speak. He's our only lead."

oOo


	59. Equals, Ch 5

Equals

Chapter 5

News of the passing of the Baroness de Maronne reached the court quickly; it was taken very harshly, the woman having been very popular. It was the topic of conversation for most of the week.

Christine stood to the side gazing sadly out of one of the windows. Sometimes being at court felt like a prison to her. A gilded cage, but a prison nonetheless, and she longed to return to her estate or her role at the garrison where she felt more free and of value.

She turned as she felt a presence behind her and came face to face with the Baron de Carbonne.

Christine's eyes grew cold as she met his.

"Such a tragedy," said the Baron, his tone not reflecting his words.

"Yes," Christine said. "The Baroness was a good woman." The Baron chuckled in response.

"Did you disagree? Do you find something humourous in the way she was murdered?" she asked him scathingly, her outrage bristling over.

"Perhaps she might serve as an example for you – a warning maybe," he said icily as he slithered away with a smirk. Christine stared after him, fighting the urge to chase after the Baron and beat some sensitivity into him.

It was only later that night as she lay awake, with Aramis resting peacefully next to her, that she considered the possible meaning of those words.

oOo

Aramis escorted Christine to the palace once more the next day. Athos came riding into the palace courtyard leading Aramis' mare.

"Two more. The son of the Baron de Carbonne and a girl. His lover."

Christine gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

"Go," she said squeezing Aramis' arm. He kissed her and leapt to his horse as he and Athos thundered out of the courtyard.

They met Porthos and D'Artagnan outside the gates of the Baron's estate. Blood could be seen staining the gates from where the bodies had been hung in the most brutal desecration yet.

Porthos marched over to them. "Baron's not here," he growled. "This was around the son's neck," Porthos said handing Athos the placard. Aramis read over his shoulder. "Blood Traitor" it said.

"Have guards sent out to search for the Baron. We need to find that Viscomte," Athos said, to another musketeer nearby, as his brothers mounted their horses.

oOo

They found Marius sitting in a tavern. He wasn't drunk, but he sat like one dead, staring at the table in front of him.

"There he is," growled Porthos. "Enough games. You need to tell us what you know!"

The man looked at Porthos emotionlessly, unfazed by the anger of the larger man.

Aramis flung a hand out and placed it on Porthos' chest, preventing him from physically knocking some sense into the stunned nobleman. With a meaningful look at his brothers, Aramis took a seat across from Marius.

"I am sorry about Marie. She was very beautiful," he said softly, looking into the man's face. He saw the man's lips tighten as a single tear escaped him. "I know how it feels to be helpless when someone you love is in danger," Aramis continued.

"Four people are dead now Marius. Four lives lost because they fell in love. They fell in love with individuals that some madmen didn't approve of," he said, pain and anger colouring his words as he fought to control his emotions. "These are the same men that took your Marie. The same men that strangled her with their bare hands before hanging her dead body for all to witness. These are not men, Marius. Not like you and I. They are worse than animals. They are monsters cast out by Lucifer himself."

Aramis paused as a dry sob passed through the Viscomte. "But you can stop them," he said, reaching out and grasping the man's forearm. "You can bring peace and justice to Marie. You can help us catch and punish her murderers. Help us Marius. Help us stop these killings. If you do not," he said, removing his hand, "Then you are no better than they are. Her blood will be on your hands as well."

Marius stared at the place on his arm that Aramis' hand had vacated. Quietly he began to weep.

"My father," he began, "Is part of an ancient secret society led by the Baron de Carbonne. The membership is made up of representatives of some of the oldest noble families. They're maniacs," he laughed bitterly. "It is their goal to preserve the noble bloodlines. It used to be just a way to match noble sons and daughters…but the Baron… he became obsessed. I never dreamed that this would become so twisted, so grotesque. That they – that my father – would take my Marie…" he broke off, his tears falling freely as he looked at Aramis.

The marksman grasped his arm again, his own eyes burning with anger and tears for the young man. "Provide us with a list of names and they will pay for their crimes." He locked eyes with the miserable Viscomte and the man nodded.

oOo

The news of two more bodies spread like wildfire at the court. The King was beside himself and fled to his apartments, barricading himself inside. Christine saw D'Artagnan dash up the palace steps to make a brief report to Treville. Grim, but with eyes blazing with cold fury, Treville nodded to the Gascon who took off down the stairs once more, before he himself went to try to update the King.

Forty minutes later the Captain marched into the throne room and it was announced that court had been dismissed for the day. Christine made her way towards the Captain.

"Captain, is everything alright?" she asked as the storm clouds that always seemed to linger over Captain Treville seemed to grow heavier.

"The culprits for these vicious crimes are being gathered up as we speak," he said and Christine sighed in relief. "Apparently they were part of a secret society of nobles intent on maintaining the bloodlines of the old houses. The Comte de Coulombe and the Baron de Carbonne among them."

Christine gasped. "His own son?" she whispered horrified. Treville nodded.

"I'm relieved the musketeers caught them. They will pay for these horrendous acts," Christine said. The pride echoing through her voice made the Captain smile.

"Come," said Treville. "I will escort you home, or would you prefer to wait for Aramis at the Garrison."

"Home I think, please, Captain," she said with a small smile. He held out his arm for her and led her down the palace steps.

They walked in silence for a while before the Captain cleared his throat.

"You know that I'm not a man of many words," he began and she raised an eyebrow in surprise. "But I feel it is my duty to tell you how…proud I am to have you as part of my regiment."

"Thank you, Captain," she said as she blushed slightly and beamed at him. "It has been my honour to be able to be of service to you. I'd likely be there every day if my attendance wasn't required at court. Will you be requiring me to wear a pauldron when on duty now?" she asked, teasingly.

Treville's eyes flashed as he looked at her, fighting the smile that was trying to find its way to his lips.

"You two are truly meant to be together," he said with a slightly exasperated chuckle. "I mean that with the best intentions and the most joy," he said as he grinned at her as they slowed their pace slightly.

"Thank you Captain," she said again smiling. "I am very lucky," she said.

"The fact that you realize that, that you know the value of that man, is what truly makes you worthy of him. You, like Aramis, have the power to see through people, to see past the masks and the walls that people try to erect around themselves. You have the ability to see and know and love the true person hiding beneath. You see each other, your true selves, and so are the only ones who can **_truly_** love each other," he said. She blushed but said nothing.

"I have known Aramis since he was little more than a boy. He is…like a son to me," Treville admitted quietly. "I have seen him full of life, and I have seen him near death, but I have never seen him as joyful as he is when he is with you. He too is lucky," Treville said squeezing her hand. "You are a remarkable woman Christine. Your intelligence and heart do you justice and your bravery, loyalty and integrity are virtues to be aimed for. If I were to ever have had a daughter, I would have wished her to be like you," he said softly. They had reached her doorway and stopped. Christine's eyes were filled with warmth as she looked at the Captain. For a man of few words, Treville seemed to have nearly spent his monthly quota on their brief walk from the palace.

"Perhaps it is just my old age talking, but seeing the two of you together amidst the chaos of this world, brings my heart joy. Joy and hope," he said and smiled at her.

"Captain," she said beaming at him, "I had no idea you were a romantic," she said as she kissed him on the cheek.

"Where else do you think Aramis learned it?" he said gruffly, a small smile turning up his lips.

She beamed at him and laughed.

He bowed to her. "I'll leave you here, Comtesse." Christine grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze as he turned to leave.

"Christine, for you, always Christine," she said, her grey eyes glowing softly as she looked at this captain of men with love and respect.

"Christine," he repeated, nodding to her. For once, the clouds around Treville parted and the storms and waters of his eyes were placid.

oOo

Christine walked into her home, savouring the rare silence of the house near midday. The maids would be at the washing and Marie would be at the market with the Chef. Marcel and the boys had made mention of visiting a saddle-maker for Philomena. There was something soothing about the quiet of the home, especially after the morning of rumours and scandal at court. Christine ascended the stairs, intent to get a few good hours of reading in before the staff returned around dusk to prepare for the evening's meal.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the desk and smiled to herself…

She pulled a thick bound book of poems from a shelf that she thought Aramis might like and began to turn through its pages.

The click of the pistol behind her made her freeze. She turned slowly, clutching the large book to her chest and the manic eyes of the Baron de Carbonne met hers.

oOo


	60. Equals, Ch 6

Equals

Chapter 6

"What's wrong?" Aramis asked as he and Athos made their way back towards the garrison.

Athos' troubled eyes found the marksman's as they always did when he was plagued by his own guilt and doubt.

"The Baron's son. I feel as though his death is my doing," he said. Aramis' eyes grew round as he listened with concern.

"I had grown angry. I asked the Baron if his notions of purifying the nobility applied to his own home as well. I did not mean for him to target his son," Athos said sadly.

"You cannot blame yourself Athos. You had no idea that the boy had a common lover," Aramis said sadly.

"But I drew the man's attention to the boy. I provoked him," Athos said.

"It would have only been a matter of time with a zealot like that. These men were maniacs. Eventually one of the others would have pushed the Baron to act. This is not your fault," he said, his dark eyes burning with compassion and understanding as he looked at his brother.

Athos smiled grimly. "I cannot wait for this to be over. Hopefully Porthos and D'Artagnan were able to apprehend that monster."

Treville had entered the garrison not long before Athos and Aramis rode through the gates. Athos dismounted and handed his reins to a stable boy.

"Anything to report?" Treville said as he turned to face his men.

"We have rounded up most of the madmen involved in this travesty. The Comte de Coulombe decided to take his own life rather than face the King's justice," said Athos gravely.

"Hopefully his son will be able to repair the damage he did to the family. i pray that Marius will one day be able to move past this," Aramis said sadly as he pulled the heavy saddle from Bella's back and handed it to another stable hand. He ran his hand down the mare's neck.

"Any news of the Baron?" asked Treville, the clouds beginning to form again in his eyes.

"No," said Aramis, "And it has me worried. He seems to have been the instigator of these gruesome acts."

"It appears he and Christine have been clashing at court of late. Porthos and D'Artagnan are in pursuit. She may still be a target while he is at large," said Athos.

"Where is she, by the way?" Aramis asked, looking to the Captain.

Treville's heart plummeted at the marksman's question as he realized his error in judgement immediately. Their walk and conversation had been so pleasant that he had not even considered the situation as he left her alone on the stairs of her home. He had assumed that she had been safely delivered to her bustling household.

Aramis saw the Captain's face drain of blood, the blue eyes bulging under the reality of the situation. Panic took Aramis' heart as he swung his mare around and took off on her back through the garrison gates without a saddle.

oOo

"What do you think you are doing here," Christine said to the Baron, summoning all the haughty power of court she could muster.

"You know exactly what I'm doing here," the Baron said as he slowly advanced towards her, stepping around the furniture in his path. "It's better to have your title die out than to have it further polluted and disgraced by your love for the people and that Spanish musketeer."

"The musketeers will find you. Aramis will find you," she whispered venomously.

"It doesn't matter," he sneered. "Others will take up my call to purge the nobility of your kind, your filth," he snarled and he pulled a blade into his other hand.

"All you have done is shown the horror and ignorance of the old ways. You have made a monster of the noble class. How could you…Your own son," she hissed and swung the book of poetry with all her might into the hand clenching the pistol. He howled as the gun flew away.

He pulled back the dagger and made to plunge it into her, but she grasped his wrist in her hands and forced it away. They fought for the blade. Roughly he pushed her into the side of the desk, but she still held on. He pushed her up against the bookshelf, her arms still fighting the hand holding the blade; his spare hand made for her throat.

Her eyes bulged as she felt his grasping fingers and she managed to push him away enough to bring her knee up into his midsection. He doubled up dropping the knife and she broke away from him and ran for the door just as Aramis burst into the room. She ran to him and he pulled her behind him as the Baron retrieved the fallen pistol.

The Baron's face was bleeding; Christine had managed to scratch him as they fought. A cruel mania glowed in his eyes. Aramis held out his hand trying to quell the irate Baron as he held Christine behind him.

"Please," said Aramis as they slowly moved along the circumference of the room. "It's over. The rest of your group is either dead or captured. Surrender and the King may still yet be merciful."

"Silence musketeer. She dies!" he screamed.

"Take me," Aramis said. "Take my life instead. I was the one who dared reach above my station. Take my life for hers."

"Aramis," she hissed as she grabbed at his shoulder. "No," she said.

"Your life is meaningless to me musketeer. She is a traitor to her kind. Hers is the life of value."

"You're wrong," she said coldly and as she pushed forward to stand in front of Aramis. "Kill me," she said, "Because I will never let you hurt him."

Aramis pulled her to him wrapping his arms protectively around her. "Then kill us both," he snarled. "But know that you will beg for death before the end once our brothers have found you."

The Baron stood now with his back to the door. He laughed maniacally. "You're both fools," he screamed and raised the gun to fire.

"BANG!"

The blast of a pistol went off and Aramis dropped to the floor pulling Christine with him, his body sheltering hers. The silence that followed seemed to go on forever

"Aramis! Christine!" called the anxious voice of Treville, a spent pistol falling from his hand.

Aramis exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He gazed into Christine's eyes as she brought her hands to cradle his face. Her eyes sparkled and she beamed at him, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

"We're fine," he said with a relieved laugh as he dropped his head to her shoulder and she tightened her arms around his neck.

Treville smiled in relief and turned away so they couldn't see his joy.

Athos walked towards the Baron who had dragged himself into a corner. The blood poured out of the gaping wound on the man's chest. He gurgled on his own precious blood as his life slowly drained away from him. He found Athos' cold eyes and his own widened.

"You are a disgrace. Your house is ruined. Your lands are forfeit, and by your own hand, your son is dead. You are nothing and your name, your family's name, will be wiped from all memory. Your patents of nobility are forfeit. You have shamed your ancestors. May they greet you with scorn when you meet them in hell," Athos whispered viciously. The former Baron's eyes bulged in fear at these words as he struggled through his last breath and stilled.

"Oy! Athos! Christine! Aramis! Everything ok?!" cried Porthos as he and D'Artagnan burst through the door.

"We're fine," Christine laughed in relief as Aramis pulled her into a seated position on the floor. She threw her arms around him again and held him tightly. He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands. He locked onto her smiling blue-grey eyes and kissed her.

"Marry me," he said as he kissed her again.

"What?!" Christine gasped as she pulled away, ecstasy written all over her face.

He beamed at her. "Will you marry me, Christine?" he said, his eyes sparkling with joy.

She laughed and clasped him to her. "Yes," she gasped as she pulled back for air. "Yes, yes, yes!" she cried as his face grew even more jubilant than was previously thought possible.

Porthos cried openly as he cheered. D'Artagnan wiped at his eyes as he smiled so broadly it looked as though his face might crack. Treville beamed at them. The clouds of his eyes banished as sunshine took their place.

Athos stood there smiling. His lips parted and he, loudly, laughed for joy, the noise a perfect soundtrack to the joyous moment.

Christine and Aramis gazed at each other and they kissed each other again, surrounded by their dear ones.

oOo


	61. Equals, Ch 7

Equals

Chapter 7

The next day, Christine stood on the palace steps and was surprised to see Athos waiting for her, a bunch of white daffodils in his hand.

"Athos," she cried as she skipped down the steps towards him and kissed him on the cheek.

"You seem absolutely wretched," he said to her, a twinkle in his eyes and that illusive smirk on his lips.

"Exceedingly miserable," she responded with a grin.

"Will you join me for a walk?" he asked as he offered her his arm.

"I would love that," she said, taking his arm and the flowers.

"I want you to know how happy this has made me," he said to her, blushing slightly.

She smiled at him and gave his arm a squeeze. "Me too brother. I can hardly believe it. I feel as though my heart will burst from my chest!" They turned the corner and were met by the smiling faces of Marcus and Victor who beamed at her and both handed her a pink rose.

"Why thank you boys," she said startled as Athos continued to guide her down the street. Marie appeared next, a broad smile on her face and tears in her eyes as she passed Christine six pale tulips and kissed her on the cheek. They passed Bernard, Cornet, Francois and Etienne. Each man beamed and passed her a flower. Christine was shocked but Athos continued on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. She looked over her shoulder at the parade that had begun to form behind them. They rounded another corner where a serving girl stepped forward and passed her a bouquet of white peonies.

"From their Royal Majesties," she said curtseying.

"Athos, what is this? What's going on?" she asked. He smirked at her and said nothing.

They stopped at Treville next. He placed a hand on her cheek and added a lily to her enormous bouquet. His warm smile and bright eyes filled her already overflowing heart.

The sun had begun to sink as they made their way down the road. The sky was turning a beautiful patchwork of pinks and purples.

D'Artagnan's beaming face matched hers as he added a trailing bunch of wildflowers to her armload; the vine of purple buds cascaded along her arms. He kissed her cheek and gave her a wink and grin. She beamed at him as he joined the crowd over her shoulder.

They reached Porthos who took the enormous bouquet in one arm and lifted her to him with the other in a fierce embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

"Knew you'd be trouble," he rumbled into her ear. "He's a magnet for it." She beamed back at him as he kissed both her cheeks.

She turned back to Athos who beamed at her. "I still don't understand," she said, shaking her head softly. He bowed and kissed her hand. He and Porthos parted to reveal the most beautiful sight Christine had ever seen.

Athos had led her to a cobblestone terrace where Paris sprawled beneath it. A beautiful tree hung its boughs elegantly. It looked like a fairy grotto had taken residence in Paris as it seemed to float over the rooftops of the city flecked with gold by the setting sun. Candles hung from the tree's branches and sparkled around the terrace. The watercolour pinks and purples of the sky cast a rosy glow across the scene. The bells of Notre Dame rang brightly in the distance.

And there he was. Aramis.

He stood in his long doublet and musketeer's sash and beneath the boughs and candlelight. In his hand he held a single Iris. His eyes burned brighter than the candles as he held out his hand to her and she all but floated to him.

"Aramis," she whispered, "What's going on?"

He smiled at her as she took the flower from him.

"This is how I planned to ask you," he said as her eyes widened.

"Aramis, this wasn't necessary," she whispered, looking back at the crowd of their loved ones; she was still in awe of the fairy world he had created for her.

"If it earned me a smile like that, it was worth it," he said with a grin as she smiled at him, the fire bright in her eyes at the familiar words.

He took her left hand in his and dropped to his knee.

"Christine," he said to her, "You are my world."

She held her breath.

"Since that day in the marketplace, nothing else has mattered to me but you. I live to see that caring, clever, defiant, wildfire that burns in your eyes. I was lost until you Christine. You gave me purpose. You made me whole."

Aramis reached into his pocket and drew out a small gold ring bearing a small red stone.

"This was my mother's," he said. "I have kept it with me all these years. It is the only thing I have of hers. I have nothing to offer you Christine but this small token, but with this you will truly have all of me, if you'll accept it," he said.

"I cannot offer you a life of ease, but no man can guarantee that. I **can** promise you that I will love you until I die Christine, because I know I will love you even longer after that. I cannot promise that there won't be hard times, and sad times, but I **can** promise that with our love these times will all be fleeting. I have nothing Christine, but if you say yes, if you'll marry me, if you say you'll be my wife, I will have everything – more than any man alive. I will have you Christine and you will have me and with that our riches will exceed the dreams of Kings. I love you Christine. Say you'll be mine. Say you'll be my wife. Say that you'll marry me."

Tears fell softly down Christine's cheeks as she gazed into the eyes of the love of her life. She memorized every leaf on that tree, every flicker of light that was fortunate enough to fall on his beautiful face. She looked at him and felt her heart surging. There was a fire that burned within her and she knew that fire was him. It had always been him. It was his love. He was her life.

She gazed at him and smiled, her fingers curling around his.

She nodded.

"Yes," she whispered and he sagged in relief as he placed the ring on her finger. "Yes!" she cried again and pulled him upright. "A million times, yes!" she said as she pulled him towards her and wrapped her arms around his neck. He clutched her to him, and lifted her into the air, the tears running down his cheeks matching hers as they kissed.

Joy radiated over Paris from that terrace; the noise and the cheering crowd could be heard from every corner, from the garrison to the Palace.

oOo

The village church was dressed beautifully. Wildflowers festooned the inside and lined the arch of the doorway. The new bell sparkled like a second sun as the day shone beautifully and bright. The entire village was in attendance to watch Aramis and Christine exchange their vows.

Aramis stood before the altar, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan at his side.

"Are you nervous?" whispered D'Artagnan.

"Still time to change your mind," said Porthos grinning.

"She may have actually come to her senses and fled," muttered Athos, smirking.

Aramis chuckled and shook his head. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life," he said.

"She might still not show up. You may want to have someone search the stables," said Athos wryly, his eyes sparkling.

Aramis grinned at the man, a warning of violence sparking in his dark eyes. Athos grinned back at the challenge.

The doors opened and light streamed though. The crowd turned to greet the bride and collective sighs travelled up the aisle as Christine, on the arm of Treville, floated towards her musketeer.

She wore a stunning ivory gown, the bodice embroidered with a subtle pattern of blue fleur de lis and delicate pearls, beautiful and simple. Her hair was crowned with a silver circlet and baby's breath; about her neck hung the jeweled three-starred symbol of her house, like always. All of this elegance and finery were completely over-shadowed by the beauty and elation of her face as she proceeded towards Aramis, a bouquet of blue irises in her hands.

"Good luck," whispered Porthos, beaming at his friend as he and D'Artagnan stepped back towards their pew.

"Just close your mouth and remember to breathe," said Athos. Athos clapped his hand on his brother's shoulder and joined the others. Aramis chuckled, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration as he gazed at the woman walking towards him and she winked at him.

As Treville and Christine approached the altar, Aramis stepped forward. He wore a smoky blue coat over white breeches and a stunning ceremonial rapier, a gift from his brothers, hung at his waist over his blue musketeer's sash. To anyone watching, this truly seemed like the climax of a fairytale – a handsome knight marrying a beloved and beautiful princess – but for the Musketeer and the Comtesse, it was still just the beginning.

Treville raised an eyebrow at Aramis, his stern glare flashing once more – a silent final warning. Aramis beamed at him as Treville placed her hand in his. Christine kissed the Captain's cheek and Treville blushed slightly, his ice-blue eyes melting to spring days as he smiled at the couple and took his place next to his men.

Tears of joy sparkled on almost every face as Aramis and Christine vowed to cherish and protect each other and received the sacrament of marriage from the priest.

There was a pause and then the crowd gasped as their Royal Majesties, King Louis and Queen Anne stepped out of the choir of the church. Christine stepped backwards slightly as Louis drew his sword.

"Kneel Aramis," he commanded. Aramis acquiesced and for once, lowered his head so he faced the ground, humbled and formal, as he bowed before the King and Queen.

"Aramis, I have no greater gift to offer you than the one you have received today. Love, true love, is the most divine gift imaginable next to royalty. The Comtesse des Etoiles has chosen you as her equal, to be her partner and her defender in life, and I, as well as you, know that it is foolish to question the decision of such a remarkable and intelligent woman. With her blessing, she has asked you to share the joys, burdens and responsibilities of her life by accepting the title of the Comte des Etoiles, and by the vows made before God, you have accepted each other as husband and wife," said the King.

The Queen stepped forward holding a blue velvet cushion, upon which lay a silver chain with the three-star coat of arms, the partner to the one about Christine's neck.

"Aramis, if you choose so, you may now bear a double life. Here on these lands, you will serve me as the Comte des Etoiles, maintaining the wellbeing of the land and my people. However, if you choose to maintain your commission, I will not relinquish your service as a musketeer while you are in Paris," he said and Aramis' eyes went round. "I know you to be among my best musketeers, and I would not discard your services if you are still willing to serve under Captain Treville and alongside your brother musketeers. The Comtesse has proven herself to be a more than capable champion for her people. Your position at court will be respected and maintained when you should choose to use it, but in all other instances you need only support your wife in her judgements and participate, when required, at formal courtly proceedings."

The king placed his blade upon the marksman's shoulder. "What do you say Aramis? Will you accept the title of the Comte des Etoiles? Will you serve and protect the people in my name? Will you honour and support the Comtesse as she maintains this estate's role at court? Will you bend the knee and continue to serve alongside your brothers as one of my elite Musketeers?"

"Yes Sire. I know of no greater honour than to be able to serve in these roles, Your Majesty," he said breathlessly as he raised his head, joy and pride radiating from his eyes.

"Your service is accepted," said the King as he doffed Aramis on each shoulder. Christine and the Queen stepped forward, and taking the sigil from the cushion in the Queen's hands, Christine fastened the chain around Aramis' neck where in hung brightly on his chest.

The King stepped forward again and placing Aramis' hand in Christine's he said, "Rise now Aramis as the Comte des Etoiles."

Aramis stood and Christine squeezed his hand as the church erupted in applause. She smiled at him and he winked at her and let out a sigh of relief.

"Now for God's sake, kiss your wife!" said the King as he beamed as broadly as the rest of them.

oOo

The reception lasted through the night until the King's carriage finally pulled away just as the rosy dawn light crept across the village.

Aramis sat in his shirtsleeves in the master suite of their home and examined the symbol that hung at his breast. Turning it over, he read the family's motto inscribed on the back of the medallion. Words were written behind each star that would hang forever next to his heart. "For Country, For Honour, For Each Other". The words were so simple and aligned perfectly with the motto of the Musketeers that he drew in a breath in disbelief.

Christine came up behind him and draped her arms around him. "Hello husband," she whispered in his ear as she kissed his neck.

He smiled and turned his head to face her. Her eyes gleamed as the early morning light encased her in a golden glow.

She was his and he was hers.

He would be Comte and Musketeer.

But mostly, he would be her husband and she his wife, and they would be happy and they would love each other until time ceased to exist. As this realization sunk in once more and he stared at his love bathed in the sunlight, he laughed. This must be what heaven felt like, he thought as he pulled her into his lap.

"Hello wife," he said to her. He couldn't stop beaming. She giggled softly as his fingers ran across her star pendant and brushed along the neckline of her dressing gown. He looked into the blue-grey eyes he adored so much and saw the fire that flourished there beaming back at him.

He entwined his fingers into her hair and pulling her close, he kissed her and she kissed him back.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

* * *

 _ **A/N: There you have it! A little bit of a Disney ending sprinkled in there - but the story isn't done! I have a few more ideas for Christine and Aramis based on some recommendations from you lovely readers.**_

 _ **I do hope you've been enjoying this! Thank you so much for reading and for your kind words and great support throughout. I'll pick this up again soon! Cheers!**_


	62. By Any Other Name, Ch 1

_**A/N: Hi there readers! Welcome to the next "episode" in my series! I had someone ask me what role Christine would take on with the Musketeers...would she become a spy like the Duchess of Savoy? Would she become a de facto member of the Musketeers like Constance? Let's find out, shall we?**_

 _ **As always, thank you so much for reading. I love getting your feedback and story ideas, so if you've got the time and you're so inclined, drop me a line! Cheers!**_

* * *

By Any Other Name

Chapter 1

Aramis and Porthos rode in through the garrison gates, dust-covered and sore from a long and arduous mission. What should have been a simple delivery to the Comte de Maille turned into anything but, when the Comte's son insisted on challenging Porthos to a wrestling match once he had seen the size of the strapping musketeer.

Despite their profuse and polite refusal, the Viscomte took matters into his own hands when he and a few of his henchmen decided to attack the musketeers at the inn where they were spending the night. The musketeers won the bout handily, sending the embarrassed noble fleeing into the night. There would be no rest for the musketeers though, who determined it would be best if they left at dawn, before the true bruises and the bruised ego of the Viscomte might make themselves felt. A scorned noble was never something to trifle with.

The two-day journey back to Paris was a strained one as they were constantly on alert for potential pursuit. It also rained both nights making it impossible to light a campfire, so the musketeers were cold, tired and tense as they rode through the gates. D'Artagnan greeted them as they dismounted stiffly.

"Tell ya what, next time some noble son challenges me, I'm just gonna thrash'em soundly in the middle of the ball room if that'll at least get me one good night's rest," grumbled Porthos as he stretched his shoulders.

"Now Porthos, we were being polite," said Aramis.

"A lot of good that did us," Porthos muttered.

"Well…you still got to give the Viscomte a thrashing," said Aramis, grinning.

D'Artagnan and Porthos chuckled lightly.

"How have things been here?" Porthos asked.

"Quiet," D'Artagnan deadpanned, pulling another grin from the brawler.

"Is Christine here?" Aramis asked, an eagerness suddenly in his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair.

D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile at the medic's reaction. "Yes, I saw her in the infirmary earlier. The Captain wants to see you though. He said to bring you to his office as soon as you returned."

Aramis frowned slightly at these words and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at D'Artagnan who shrugged in response.

"That sounds like trouble. Guess your reunion's gonna have t'wait. What've you gotten us into this time?" Porthos asked with a laugh as he clapped Aramis on the shoulder dispelling a small cloud of dust.

"Your guess is as good as mine," said Aramis as he beat as much dust out of his doublet as possible. He cast a longing eye towards the infirmary before heaving a deep sigh. "Let's get this over with. Lead on, D'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan led the way to Treville's office where he knocked twice before entering the room after a familiar bark of "Come!"

Aramis followed him and removed his hat. Porthos shut the door behind them.

Treville was seated at his desk, his hands clasped in front of his chin, his eyes studying the desktop as if trying to arrange the puzzle pieces only he could see. Athos stood across from him, frowning as he leant against the support column facing the door, his arms crossed. He raised his eyes as his brothers entered. Aramis cast him an inquisitive glance but Athos' expression was as inscrutable as ever.

Sitting in front of Athos and across from Treville was the Comtesse des Etoiles, Aramis' Christine. She smiled at him as he entered, a slight flush coming to her cheeks as her eyes met those of her husband. Aramis couldn't help but smile as he saw the woman that he dreamt about each night, though the smile faltered at the serious expression on her face and the overall strained countenance of the room.

"Anything to report?" Treville asked, his eyebrow raised.

Aramis glanced back at Porthos, who also was picking up on the tense energy of the room. "Nothing worth mentioning," Aramis said smoothly. "It seems as though perhaps I should be asking you the same question?"

Treville sighed and brought his hand up to console the bridge of his nose. "Take a seat, Aramis," he said.

Aramis' eyes widened. "I think I'll remain standing," he replied, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Something was wrong. His eyes flickered from Treville to Athos to Christine in rapid succession. He could feel Porthos and D'Artagnan shifting uneasily behind him.

Christine was focussing on the table. Athos' bright eyes caught the marksman's before shifting to focus on his oldest friend, the Comtesse.

Silence reigned for a good minute.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Aramis asked, a worried edge to his voice.

"As you know, several years ago, there were a string of robberies at the palace. Some of the Queen's prized jewels were taken," Treville began. "Recently, one or two of those items have begun to make their re-emergence in society."

"We have received word," Treville continued, "of an underground auction to take place outside the city walls. It is rumoured that there are other items for purchase at this auction in addition to the stolen jewels – weapons, most likely. It is our duty to infiltrate the premises, confiscate the items and bring the villains running this to justice."

Aramis nodded his head, his eyes flickering once more between Treville, Athos and Christine. This mission did not seem too exceptional…there must be some other piece that he was missing.

"How are we to infiltrate?" he asked.

"The event is by invitation only. It will be heavily guarded. Sneaking in is out of the question."

"And I'm assuming you've managed to procure an invitation?" D'Artagnan asked from behind Aramis.

Treville nodded slowly. "The Duke de Bari has just died and his young wife has been apprehended under suspicion of his murder. She and her lover are both currently awaiting trial at the Chatelet. It appears as though the Duchess was to be an attendee of the event," said Treville.

Aramis' stomach plummeted at these words. His eyes sought Christine who was refusing to make eye contact with him. "No" he said firmly.

"Aramis –"

"No," he repeated more loudly. "How can you even consider this?" he asked Athos incredulously.

"This would be our only way into the gathering," Athos said.

"We have been chasing these villains for nearly ten years," added Treville.

"No," Aramis insisted. "It's far too dangerous."

Treville tried again, "Aramis, this may be the only –"

"She's my wife! She's not a musketeer!" cried Aramis, stunning Treville into silence at his outrage.

Christine rose from her chair and approached him. He was breathing hard as he tried to control his temper. She stepped close to him and placed her hands around his neck. He raised his hands to grip her wrists and stared deeply into her eyes.

"I am your wife Aramis, but I am also a citizen of France, and I am still able to make my own decisions. If it is within my power to help, it is my duty to do so."

"Christine – " Aramis began, but she interrupted him.

"It will only be for a few days. I am the only person suited to impersonate the Duchess in order to bring these men to justice and you will be with me the whole time. I am not afraid."

"Christine has insisted. You know that I would never put her life in danger if there were any other option," said Treville. Aramis' dark eyes gleamed as they met the blue eyes of his captain.

"What do you think?" he asked Athos.

Christine glanced over her shoulder to make eye contact with the swordsman.

Athos frowned. "I think it's dangerous. We don't know how many people will be attending or how many guards might be on hand. We also don't know when we might see an opportunity like this again. The goods and weaponry that we might recover could be devastating if they fell into the wrong hands."

"That's not an answer," Aramis said angrily.

"Aramis, do you trust me?" said Christine, her eyes boring into her husband's once again.

"Christine – "

"Do you trust me, Aramis?"

The medic sighed heavily. "With my life, my love, with my life."

"As I trust you with mine. This is a risk I am willing to take. It is my duty. But I would be more comfortable if I knew that I would have you supporting me," she said softly.

He stared into her determined face and knew the decision was already made. He nodded firmly. "I will stand by you in all things, to whatever end," he said. She smiled at him and kissed him and the room exhaled in relief.

oOo


	63. By Any Other Name, Ch 2

By Any Other Name

Chapter 2

A fire was dying in the hearth of the library as Aramis paced in front of it.

In _his_ library, he reminded himself. He still had not quite grown accustomed to being a Comte, and when the staff referred to him as "Sir" or "My Lord", he had to stop himself from checking over his shoulder to see whom they were speaking to.

It was fine really – not much had changed since he and Christine had married, other than the title. He still served with his brothers as a musketeer, and Treville had been no more lenient on him after he had become the Comte. Christine still divided her time between her duties at court and her role as the garrison's medic.

But now, Aramis thought, Christine would be taking on this new role, and he was…terrified.

He had long ago accepted the risks and the danger that went hand in hand with being a musketeer, but he was less accepting when it was the woman he loved taking those risks. Sometimes subterfuge was part of the role that they played and danger and violence were almost always guaranteed. As his mind raced at the thought of the mission before them, of Christine becoming a target, of her willingly taking on this challenge and placing herself in danger, he paced to stop himself from screaming.

He tossed another log onto the fire's embers and watched as the flames caught life. He watched the fire dance along the log, the light also dancing across his dark eyes as he stared into it, trying to prepare himself mentally for the trip to come.

He leant against the fireplace mantle and ran his hand through his hair.

He inhaled slightly in surprise before exhaling deeply as he felt her arms snake around his waist. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder as she held him against her. His hand reached down and held hers as they gazed into the fire.

"Come back to bed," she whispered lowly into his ear, the words dripping like a soothing balm down the back of his neck.

"In a moment mi tesora. I'm having trouble sleeping," he said sadly.

She circled around him without breaking their contact and he wrapped his hands around her waist as she lay her head against his chest. They stood staring into the firelight, just savouring each other's embrace before she spoke again.

"Will you tell me what's troubling you?" she asked delicately.

Aramis let out a slightly frustrated sigh. "I hardly know where to begin."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked deeply into the opal-like eyes he adored.

"I'm scared, mi tesora. For the first time in my life, I am frightened before a battle," he said causing her eyes to cloud with concern.

"Why my love? What is it?" She brought her hand to console his cheek and she stared into the dark caring depths of her husband's eyes.

"It's you my love. It's this mission. I am frightened to have you risk your life like this."

She frowned slightly; she did not interrupt him, but held his gaze as he continued.

"If you do this task – if you impersonate the duchess…you'll be willingly putting yourself in danger Christine…and it frightens me. If anything were to happen to you, I don't know how I'd go on," he said looking sadly into her eyes.

"Believe me mi Tesoro, I know exactly how you are feeling. These are the same fears I have each time I see you ride out from the garrison, each time you're delayed in returning to me, every time you put your life on the line for your duty and in service to the crown and country. My heart stops with every mission you undertake and doesn't start again until I see you ride back through those gates and I have you firmly in my arms. I too am frightened my love, but I know you will be with me, and when you are with me, anything is possible," she said, her eyes burning like stars.

Aramis laughed softly as he stared into the cosmos of her eyes, a slight chuckle, hardly more than an exhalation. "I did not think it was possible for me to love you any more than I did, but these last few months, as we've grown together as husband and wife, have meant more to me than I ever dreamed possible," he said as he took her face in his hand and ran his thumb along her cheek.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply. His hands curled in her hair as his mouth expressed the strength of his passion for her. They separated both breathing heavily.

His eyes were burning, still echoing the flames of the fire as she kissed him again and pulled him to her. His passion met hers as they embraced and they kissed away the other's fears.

He walked her back into their bedroom, her chemise pooling in a flutter of chiffon at his feet as their bodies pledged their love for each other once again.

oOo

When they arrived at the garrison the next day, the Comtesse's carriage was piled high with trunks. She was dressed in one of her courtly best gowns with ornate brooches on her bodice and a decadent pair of chandelier earrings that hung to her jaw. Athos eyed the coach and the opulent jewels with a discerning glance.

"If this is going to work, I figured I should look the part," she said to the musketeers before her.

"You look beautiful," said D'Artagnan.

"Almost too much so," said Aramis with a teasing grin. "No one will believe someone so beautiful could be involved in something so nefarious."

"Or have such poor taste in men," she teased back and the musketeers all chuckled as Aramis kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Are we all prepared?" asked Treville as he joined them by the carriage.

Athos nodded. "D'Artagnan will be posing as the Duchess' carriage driver. Aramis and Porthos shall be her men – act as her servants and bodyguards," he frowned slightly before continuing, "And I – "

"Athos will be posed as my appraiser. I'll need someone to inspect the wares I'm looking to purchase," said Christine.

"It'll allow Athos to dust off the years of schoolin' we tried so hard to knock out of him," said Porthos with a grin.

Athos scowled. "It will allow me to keep Christine within my sights at all times and may afford us the chance to better examine the wares for sale."

Treville nodded grimly. "Be careful. We have no idea who the other parties in attendance may be. Confiscate the goods and arrest those responsible, but do not play loosely with your lives. Pull out at the first sign of trouble," he said warningly, his blue eyes directing this last statement directly to Christine. She met his gaze and nodded firmly.

She was ready.

With a curt nod, Treville turned away and Athos helped Christine into her carriage.

oOo

Athos and Christine rode in silence for a while in the carriage. Athos watched her as she pointedly looked out the window, avoiding his eye contact, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

"You're worried," said Athos, finally breaking the silence.

She gave him an exasperated look, but did not argue.

"He's also worried," said Athos, matter of factly.

"Will you be providing this observational commentary for the entire trip?" she asked him, annoyed now.

"If you prefer we can return to an anxious silence," he retorted.

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't stop her lips from turning up slightly. It was moments like this, when Christine felt as though the pair of them would slip back in time to when they were children, constantly challenging and teasing each other in an affectionate way. He reached forward and took her hands suddenly to still them, and she dropped her eyes to look at them.

"Christine, tell me what's bothering you," said Athos, his bright eyes boring into her – the same caring eyes of the boy she knew.

She sighed and slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "It's nothing really," she said slowly. "It's just…I've never done anything like this before. What if they don't believe me, and one of you is injured because of my mistake? What if I can't do this?"

Athos frowned slightly before responding. "It is alright to be nervous. Frankly, I'd be more concerned if you weren't. Your nerves indicate the stakes you're playing for…that our lives matter," he said, "but Christine, nothing matters more to any of us than your safety. Aramis is right, you are not a musketeer, you are not sworn to give your life for your country. Keeping you safe is paramount to everything on this mission."

"Athos – " she began to argue, but he raised a hand to stop her.

"I won't hear you argue," he said. "Do you think Aramis could live with himself, could live with any of us, if something happened to you? You must know Christine how much we all care about you." He paused for a moment before continuing, "After I lost Thomas…I was in a dark place. I drank…horribly…I wanted to block out the entire world. I wanted to die but was too cowardly to do anything about it. Porthos and Aramis found me and brought me back to life as a musketeer. Then D'Artagnan forced his way into our lives, and for one of the first times in my life I felt love. I found family."

Christine frowned slightly, her eyes soft and sad. Athos smiled at her softly and continued. "I have always felt that way with you," he said. "We are a family. You are family. There is nothing any of us wouldn't do to protect you," he said fervently.

Christine sighed, and dropped his gaze. "Do you really think I can do this?" she asked quietly.

"I would not have supported this mission if I had any doubt in you," he said confidently, and she smiled at him. "Just remember, once we step out of this carriage, you are the Duchess de Bari, fully. You are to act like the worst incarnation of the noblesse. Someone you and I would despise horribly. You will need to charm them and do whatever is necessary to keep them off their guard."

"Like we used to pretend when we were younger?" she asked with a grin.

He grinned back. "Exactly."

"Thank you Athos," she said before frowning slightly once more as she changed their grip and held his hand tightly in hers. She hesitated for a moment then quietly began to speak.

"I've never had a moment to apologize to you Athos. When I left…I can't imagine what it was like for you…being trapped in that home…At first I was so caught up in my father's grief and my own grief over the death of my mother that we simply ran from city to city trying to escape her memory. Eventually, we were able to settle and to talk about her and love again…but that whole time…those twelve years…I though of you often. I thought of how much you would have loved Athens, and the Coliseum of Rome, the art in Florence, the theatre in England. I had lost not only my mother, but my brother as well when we fled. I wrote you so many letters in my mind, but was never able to put quill to paper. I thought for sure you despised me for abandoning you," she said, tears rolling softly down her cheeks.

"When I served as a nurse, I wanted to reach out to find you, but I couldn't reveal who I was for fear that I could be used as leverage if captured. And then, when my father decided we were to finally resettle in France, there was no way for me to contact you. You had left Pinon, left the name Olivier behind…"

"But you found me," he said with a shy smile which she returned.

"Of course. You are my brother Athos. After my father passed it became my mission to find you, to know what happened to you," she said. "We were family after all – we _are_ family…the six of us."

"Six?" questioned Athos.

"I've included Treville in our number. Us misfits still need a father figure, and the worry lines across Treville's forehead have more than earned him that title."

Athos smirked, "He'll be delighted to hear that."

"Trust me," she said with a grin of her own, "He more than knows it already."

Together they laughed as mischievously as they did when they were children.

"You know, I've forgotten how comfortable it can be to ride _inside_ the carriage," he said with a slight grin, and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Christine laughed out loud. "Just wait until I tell Porthos and Aramis you said that," she teased, "You'll never hear the end of it." And together they laughed again.

Though their brothers could not hear the conversation within the coach, the laughter carried out to them, and all three men rode away from Paris with wide grins on their faces from the ruckus.

oOo


	64. By Any Other Name, Ch 3

By Any Other Name

Chapter 3

After a few hours, the carriage slowed to a halt. Christine and Athos had both dozed off thanks to the rhythmic swaying of the carriage, but rose easily when it ceased to move.

"We're nearly there," said Porthos as he opened the door to let Athos and Christine out to stretch. "Just about an hour further," he said.

"Good. Porthos, Aramis, when we arrive at the front door, do nothing," warned Christine.

Athos nodded. "You are there to act as the Duchess' body guards. The Duchess will need to pull her rank, and the staff of the house will need to see to her things. As her men, the staff there are beneath your notice as well."

Christine grinned. "Yes, I am very important and if I am made to wait, you can be sure that my confidences at court will hear about it!" she said haughtily. D'Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos all grinned. The others stepped away to water the horses, leaving Aramis with Christine.

"I can see you've been practicing," teased Aramis as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"How dare you, sir," she said placing her arms around his neck and giving him a suggestive smirk. "I'll have you know that my family can date its lineage back to Charlemagne and I will not suffer such outrageous behaviour."

"Then you'll be very upset if I do this," he replied and kissed her deeply.

"You'll have to be whipped for that," she said breathlessly.

"Whipped?" he said, a grin coming to his face.

"Perhaps later," she said teasingly, and she in turn kissed him passionately.

He grinned broadly at her, as the others led the horses back. "It hardly seems fair that I be the only one punished," he whispered to her, his hands still resting on her waist. She kissed him suddenly once more, surprising him and stealing his breath away. His hands instinctively found their way along her body, carried away by the passion of her kiss. She drew back suddenly and he stumbled slightly in his surprise.

She grinned tauntingly at him as she backed away from him. "I'm a Duchess, so I can get away with anything," she said seductively. His mouth fell open in his shock and she grinned at him once more before winking and turning away to return to where Athos was waiting at the carriage door.

Aramis tilted his head back and laughed.

"Whenever you've recovered," she called back to him with a mischievous grin, before ducking into the carriage. Athos too smirked at him, while D'Artagnan and Porthos both wore enormous goofy grins. After years of seeing Aramis be the debonair charmer, it was nice to see that shoe on the other foot, to see him carried away in a kiss.

Aramis took off his hat, fanned himself a few times with it before replacing it and remounting his horse, his eyes beaming and a huge smile on his face.

oOo

The carriage arrived at the destination, a sprawling, but secluded manor surrounded by thick forest on three sides. Light shone from the bright windows and two large armed guards stood by the front doors. A bearded valet began to descend the steps angrily, two more armed guards trailing in his wake. Aramis and Porthos dismounted and stood tense by the carriage door.

"You!" shouted the man, pointing at D'Artagnan, "Who goes there?!"

D'Artagnan glanced back over his shoulder to where Aramis and Porthos stood sentinel. With a subtle head shake from Aramis, D'Artagnan did not answer.

"Did you not hear me, boy? How insolent! What is your business here?!" he shouted again, signalling to his men who raised their weapons into a firing position. "Answer me or you're all dead!"

The carriage door was flung open suddenly and Christine emerged in a furious state that could only be described as magnificent. The fire surged in her eyes shining more brightly than the many opulent jewels she wore on her golden gown. With the volume and expense of her gown she looked like a wrathful goddess sent from heaven to smite these poor souls and they each took a visible half step back as her rage descended on them.

"How. Dare. You. Do you have **_any_** idea of who I am?," she said coldly as she descended the steps unaccompanied. She opened her fan with a snap and began to flutter it in an annoyed way.

"Forgive this bumpkin your Grace, he clearly has dung for brains if he did not recognize your carriage," drawled Athos, his voice dripping with condescension as he exited the coach behind Christine. D'Artagnan had to turn his head and Porthos and Aramis had to fight to keep their composure at the characters that their friends had embodied. They were good. They were detestable. They easily inhabited the most loathsome qualities of the most arrogant members of court to perfection. It was all they could do to hide their shock and keep from laughing. They grinned, partaking in their own air of arrogance through association at the discomfort of the valet.

The bearded man recovered and said obstinately, "Excuse me, _sir_ , but this is a by invitation only affair."

"Stop talking before you further embarrass yourself," said Athos, reaching into his doublet and withdrawing the Duchess' invitation.

The man took it and his eyes bulged.

"You are…"

Christine closed the fan with a snap. "The Duchess de Bari, and if I had known the calibre of the wait-staff at this hovel, I never would have acquiesced to the invitation. Come Athos. There clearly isn't anything of my interest here. Nor that of any of my vast acquaintances in the higher echelon," she said, her words dripping with a wrathful scorn.

Athos plucked the invitation from the stunned valet, as another man emerged at the top of the stairs. "What seems to be the problem here?" he asked coolly as he descended the stairs. This man was tall and had dark golden hair, which perfectly matched the gold of his coat buttons and the signet ring on his right hand. He smiled charmingly at Christine as he reached the carriage.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I did not recognize the Duchess de Bari," muttered the valet as he and the guards stepped back and bowed before their master.

"Nor should you," replied the Lord, as he took Christine's hand and pressed his lips to it. "We have heard rumours of your beauty, but they have in no way done it justice. For that you must forgive my man for his insolence," he said as he kissed her hand again.

She darted her eyes quickly at Athos who gave the subtlest of nods to her as the man stood before her. She opened her fan once more and, coquettishly this time, fluttered it near her neck, simultaneously drawing attention to her bust-line and her face. She batted her long eyelashes at the man. "Well, they do say that forgiveness is a virtue, and since my husband's death I've been trying to be more virtuous," she said in a breathy and teasing voice that indicated that she might be anything but. Aramis was no longer smiling.

The man grinned wider at her, lost for a moment in the suggestion of her eyes and the teasing of her fan. Athos cleared his throat in a perturbed way and she closed her fan with another annoyed snap jolting their host back to reality.

"Forgive me," she said, "This is Athos. You know, like the mountain? He's been helping me manage my estate since my dear husband's death."

"Even before then," Athos said with a smirk and they shared a seemingly knowing grin.

"I've come to rely upon him entirely for practically everything," she gushed in that breathy way.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Monsieur Athos," said the blonde man with a slight bow that Athos returned in kind. "I am Victor Gardeau, Lord of this manor," he said pompously. "I am glad that you were both able to join us. The others have not arrived yet."

"That's a shame," Christine pouted.

"Only for the others," he replied smoothly, taking her hand once more and turning to guide her up the stairs. "It means that I may have the privilege of having your focus solely on me for a brief period."

They began to ascend the stairs and she shuffled her skirts around so there was a quick flash of the white of her petticoats as she placed her hand on his elbow.

Aramis and Porthos made to follow and the guards who had accompanied the valet visibly tensed.

"I hope you don't mind, but my men accompany me everywhere," she said, "It's their responsibility to protect my body," she said leaning towards him slightly. "They take their jobs very, very, seriously," she said in that false, suggestive, breathy tone that Aramis was growing to loathe, but the Lord seemed to be lapping up.

He cast a dismissive glance over his shoulder to where the musketeers stood. "Of course," he purred, "but I can assure you that you will be well taken care of by my hands."

She opened her fan again in an intentional display of false bashfulness.

"Lead the carriage to the servants entrance and have the Duchess' items brought to the Pink Room. Monsieur Athos', to the Green Room."

"I insist that my men be kept nearby…should I need them," she said as her free hand grasped his bicep.

"Whatever you may wish," he said, his eyes glowing at her.

It seemed as though this mission would be easier than they expected, thought Athos as he smirked, climbing the stairs just behind Christine and Gardeau. Christine had the Lord eating out of her hand already by impersonating the more wanton ladies of court. He chanced a quick look over his shoulder and his expression darkened slightly at the look of suppressed rage on Aramis' face. If Aramis couldn't control himself, they were all doomed.

oOo


	65. By Any Other Name, Ch 4

By Any Other Name

Chapter 4

Gardeau led Christine around the house, providing them with a quick tour.

"This manor is quite quaint," said Christine a little condescendingly as they crossed another opulently decorated hallway.

"It has been in my family for centuries," said Lord Gardeau.

"That must be why it's so old-fashioned," she said understandingly but in a slightly arrogant way that once again mimicked the jaded tones of the court. "How many servants does it require?"

"We have a staff of 30," he said braggadociously.

"Goodness," said Christine, "It must be quite costly to maintain so many."

"Not if you don't pay them well," quipped Athos, and the Lord and Christine laughed.

"Does that number include your guard?" Athos asked casually. Gardeau raised an eyebrow at this question and Athos smirked. "They were part of that boisterous welcoming committee that greeted us," he said coolly. "I should hope that we would not be in any danger here," he added.

"There are more than two dozen men about the premises," Gardeau replied. "Like I said, you are safe in my hands," his eyebrow raised suggestively.

"I don't doubt it," Christine laughed lightly, tightening her grip on Gardeau again.

"How many other guests are you expecting?" said Athos in a bored way. "Anyone we may know?"

Gardeau grinned at him. "It's unlikely. We keep these ventures small and are discriminate in our guest list. Most of our guests are from oversees. I only ever invite one or two guests from the French court – your late husband has been before. It's a shame I didn't have the honour of meeting you until now," he said. "How long had the pair of you been married – before he passed I mean." Christine's eyes widened for a fraction of a second – she had no idea how long the Duke and Duchess had been married!

"It felt like an eternity," Christine said in an exaggerated and vague way. "His death was a terrible shock," she said. He raised his eyebrow at her response, and she frowned prettily at him, her lower lip trembling slightly and she blinked several times as though to suppress tears.

"Forgive me," he said, taking her hand as he paused before a doorway. "The loss must still be difficult for you."

"It is. All that I have left of him is his money," she said as she clutched the handkerchief Athos offered her to her nose.

"Come now you Grace, perhaps there will be an item to distract you from your grief at tomorrow's auction," said Athos in a droll, consoling way.

"It would have to be spectacular," she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes.

"Of course. There's no way that we could perhaps see the merchandise before the other guests arrive?" Athos suggested as the Lord led them into the Pink Room where Christine would be staying.

"Oh yes, could we?" Christine asked excitedly, bringing her hands up to her chest beseechingly.

The Lord hesitated for just a moment, but as Christine fluttered her eyelashes at him again he smiled and said, "I'm sure we can arrange something…" he said seductively, his hand moving to her waist.

There was a sudden growl and Aramis took an aggressive step forward towards the Lord, his eyes blazing. The Lord sensed the challenge immediately.

Before any of the men could react, Christine stepped between Aramis and Gardeau and struck him, stunning everyone to a standstill. She took a deep breath and placing her hand on Gardeau's elbow she guided him towards the door.

"You must forgive my man," said Christine. "Like I said, they take my body very seriously."

The Lord looked back at where Aramis still stood, red-faced and frozen, and grinned. "I cannot say I blame him," he replied, his eyes roving over her once more.

"You must excuse me," she said imploringly to Gardeau and gesturing to her fine gown. "I must get out of these rags if I am to present myself to your guests later this evening."

"It will be nearly impossible for you to look more stunning than you look now, but I eagerly await your attempt," he said, bowing and kissing her hand once more before leaving.

Christine closed the door quietly behind him before turning and rushing back to where Aramis stood and throwing her arms around him. She kissed him fervently and cupped his face in her hands.

"I'm so sorry," she gushed, her voice at its regular register. "I didn't know what else to do!" she said kissing him again. "Gardeau is so ridiculous, and I was afraid that you might overreact when he dared to place his hand on my waist – the insolence of that! We only just met! – so I did what I thought the Duchess might do and I struck you, but I was glad, because at least it got his hand off me. But how ridiculous is he? Falling for this insane act? And how ridiculous am I with that breathy voice – I have no idea where it came from, but it seems to be working, but I –"

Aramis silenced her rambling with a passionate kiss of his own and Athos and Porthos chuckled lightly. She took a deep breath as Aramis released her slightly. "Better?" he asked. She blushed and nodded.

"That was incredibly well done Christine," said Athos in an amused way. "You had us all convinced. Some more so than others," he said, his eyes flashing at Aramis who embarrassedly ran a hand through his hair.

Porthos grinned. "Seein' ya actin' that way is givin' us all a deeper appreciation for who ya really are," said Porthos. "Shame the whelp's missin' all of this."

Christine grinned. "D'Artagnan would never have been able to keep a straight face," she said and Porthos barked out a laugh.

"My room is across the hall. Porthos and I will seek out D'Artagnan and see if we can verify the number of guards Gardeau mentioned. You should prepare yourself for dinner," said Athos.

"That shouldn't take too long," said Christine with a frown.

Athos smirked at her. "For you, no. But for the Duchess de Bari?"

"Oh blast," she said with a pout. Aramis grinned at her reaction as Athos and Porthos exited the room. "Am I to be trapped in this room? What am I supposed to do now? Dinner won't be for a few hours yet!"

Aramis pulled her towards him and kissed her passionately once again.

"Oh!" she gasped as he grinned and walked her back towards the bed.

oOo

Athos and Porthos met D'Artagnan out by the stables.

"There are four guards that patrol the perimeter in shifts in addition to the two stationed at the front door," he said. "The stables are massive. They may be expecting quite the crowd. Only an Englishman has arrived so far. A Count I think, but I couldn't understand a word they were saying," said D'Artagnan with a pout.

Athos nodded. "We've been told that there are about two dozen men guarding the home. We passed another eight inside in addition to the six you mentioned."

D'Artagnan nodded. "There's a barracks on the property about 100 yards south of the kitchens. That must be where he sleeps them."

"Do what you can to endear yourself to those men. If we can find a way to keep them out of the fray, we might be able to pull this off," said Athos.

Porthos grinned, "Try losing a few card games to 'em to get 'em comfortable – shouldn't be too hard for ya." D'Artagnan scowled.

"How's Christine?" he asked.

"She's perfect," said Porthos with a grin. "Has the sap eatin' outta her hand. Practically falling all over himself tryin' t'impress her."

"And Aramis?" asked D'Artagnan

Athos and Porthos frowned and glanced at each other. "'Mis is…" Porthos began…

"Aramis is struggling, but managing," said Athos curtly.

"I bet," said D'Artagnan. "Based on what I saw out on the stairs, I can't even imagine what he's going through. It was like watching a play – she was so different – and even _I_ wanted to strike Gardeau with the way he was looking at her."

"Aramis is going to have to keep a cool head until tomorrow evening when the auction is set to take place," said Athos.

Porthos frowned, "He's had a near break already."

Athos sighed, "We knew this assignment would have its challenges."

"Didn't factor in 'Mis' protection and jealousy bein' our main one so far though…" said Porthos.

"I have never known Aramis to falter under pressure. He just needs to stay focused," said Athos. "This is a character she's playing. Gardeau seems to have noticed the bait, but we haven't caught the fish yet. She'll have to be even more convincing at dinner; she'll be performing in front of a larger audience then."

oOo

* * *

 _ **A/N: I'm heading into the Canadian wilderness for a bit - the internet is shoddy at best, but I'm still going to try and keep to my posting schedule! Hopefully I'll have the next chapter done for Friday or Saturday and up for you all! Thank you for reading and for your continued reviews :) Cheers!**_


	66. By Any Other Name, Ch 5

By Any Ofher Name

Chapter 5

Athos and Porthos returned to the Pink Room having completed their tour of the grounds, adding two more guards stationed outside a set of locked doors to their count. D'Artagnan would need to find a way to subdue the additional guards at the barracks should this mission come to violence in the end.

Athos reported their findimgs to Aramis and Christine as he explaimed the next steps of their plan. "You've been excellent so far Christine, but you are going to need to continue to tease Gardeau. We need him carless and distracted. And we aren't sure what other guests may be in attendance yet. Do whatever you think is necessary," said Athos. She frowned at this and worried her lip. Aramis squeezed her hand and gave her an assuring grin, which she returned hesitantly.

"All right," she said, "but other than serving myself to him on a silver platter, I'm not sure what else I can do to keep him engaged."

Aramis gave her a sly look. "Get him chasing you. Be disinterested. Laugh and flirt with every other man in the room. He is already salivating over you. In his mind he's the Alpha male. It will drive him mad to see your attention focused elsewhere."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Won't that just anger him?"

Aramis chuckled. "Men are simple creatures of ego and easily manipulated. He'll want to prove his superiority to the others by winning your attention. And with the way you look tonight, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire household began fighting over you," he said, and she blushed deeply.

"Yes, well let's hope it doesn't come to that," said Athos wryly. "You do look quite beautiful," he added as an afterthought. She smirked at him, but said nothing. In truth she was breath taking. She wore a red satin gown that seemed to shimmer as she moved. Her pale skin seemed to glow in perfect compliment to the rich fabric. The dress was in fact on loan from the Queen – a gift from her brother, the King of Spain. She wore no jewellery, save for an elaborate ruby pin that helped to keep her luscious dark curls in place.

"I think ya look better in your regular clothes," said Porthos with a grin, which she returned broadly.

"Thank you Porthos, you are a **_true_** gentleman," she said taking his arm and guiding him towards where some wine and refreshments had been set out for them, her eyes flashing teasingly towards Aramis, who grinned back.

Athos took this opportunity to draw Aramis aside. "Will you be able to control yourself?" he asked seriously.

Aramis frowned in response and looked over to where Christine now sat. "I forgot myself for a moment. It will not happen again."

Athos nodded. "You know this is a farce, that the role she's playing is a combination of all that she hates about the court."

Aramis sighed. "I know. I do not recognize this woman as my Christine," he said as he ran his hand through his hair. "And at the same time though, I cannot forget that she is my wife. To watch another man fawn all over her and to see her encourage it? It's –"

"Distracting?" suggested Athos in echo of his earlier words.

Aramis smirked at the slight chastisement. "I will control myself," said Aramis with a challenging grin.

"You really are a simple creature," said Athos returning the smirk.

oOo

There was a slight knock at the door, which startled the occupants of the room. Aramis and Porthos' hands went to their pistols and Christine straightened herself where she perched by the window, the setting sun kissing her exposed lily shoulders. With a quick nod from Athos, she called out in a lilting voice, "Don't be silly, gentlemen! Athos darling, get the door!"

Athos opened the door and permitted the Lord of the manor to enter. Porthos and Aramis stayed tense.

"Oh! My Lord Gardeau! I wasn't expecting you so soon," she cried, well aware of the ridiculousness of the statement – several hours had passed in the time allotted for her to get ready. She rose from her seat and drawing her fingers lightly across her chest she gestured to her gown and said, "I'm not quite ready. I've haven't yet decided on what jewellery I should wear for your guests. I'd hate to arrive at dinner so underdressed," she said gesturing once more to her bare throat and chest.

A slow smile spread across Gardeau's face as he drank in her beauty, his eyes glowing with desire. Athos glanced quickly at Aramis, who swallowed but gave a firm nod back.

"Your Grace has left me speechless," murmured Gardeau.

"Oh dear," she teased, "Well then you may not be fun company this evening…and I feel so naked without a necklace on," she said, gesturing once more to her throat.

"Perhaps I can help remedy that," said Gardeau. "Though, to be fair, I must admit that I am utterly dazzled by you."

"That's the point," she purred, and the musketeers had to bite their cheeks to hide their smirks.

"Come," said Gardeau offering her his arm. "We can't have you unhappy at dinner…"

She offered him a dazzling smile as she took jis arm. His desire for her palpable.

Aramis ground his teeth as the Lord led Christine from the room. Athos followed with a warning glance at Aramis. Porthos followed, looking sympathetically at his brother who took a moment to gather himself before following the rest of the party out the door.

oOo

The party approached the locked double doors where two armed guards stood sentry.

"Only two guards?" asked Athos sceptically as Gardeau pulled a key from his breast pocket.

"Trust me, Monsieur Athos, my grounds are well protected. I have men guarding the perimeter and the halls constantly, as I'm sure you've noticed," he said in a challenging way. Clearly Gardeau was registering Athos as his competition. Athos decided to match his ante.

" ** _Lord_** Athos," he dropped as he leant into the word and casually examined the nail beds of his right hand. Gardeau flushed, unsettled by the challenge. Christine beamed at Athos.

"Forgive me," said Gardeau as he gathered himself, "My mistake."

"It's a common one," said Christine airily, taking Athos' arm. "My dear Athos is the Comte de la Fere. It appears as though neither of you gentlemen get out in society enough," she teased.

Athos smirked coolly at Gardeau as the weight and mystery of his former title settled upon the Lord. Aramis and Porthos were shocked too, having never really understood the power of the position that Athos had relinquished. The de la Fere name had held enormous weight amongst the noble class.

"Shall we?" Athos asked in a diminutive way, gesturing towards the doors. Gardeau grimaced before turning to unlock the doors. Christine and Athos shared a subtle smirk before following the Lord Gardeau into the room.

Christine gasped as she entered and the opulence of the room hit her. Athos stiffened. Gardeau beamed.

"Choose anything you like," he said as he extricated her arm from Athos' and led her to a table where priceless jewels gleamed from dark velvet cushions. There were enough riches on the table to fund a war – or at least to start one!

Athos slowly circled in the opposite direction, making note of the table that was covered in ornately crafted weaponry. In contrast to the extravagance, some plain, dark wood crates were piled in a corner. He casually picked up a dagger whose pommel was decorated with a large dark green stone.

Christine paused by a large sapphire brooch. "I know this piece," she said. "This was worn by the Duchess of Seville."

"Yes," grinned Gardeau. "Her new husband is here in an attempt to win it back. She had fallen on hard times for a period. I was able to offer my assistance in exchange," he said smugly.

"So, you're a pawn-broker," Athos stated dismissively, casually tossing and catching the dagger in his hand. Christine giggled and Gardeau scowled.

"Come now Athos, he's a conservationist," she soothed, placing her hand delicately on Gardeau's arm. "It brings me comfort to know that there's a strong man I could turn to should I ever be in need…now that my husband is dead," she said, smiling demurely at him. Athos huffed audibly, and Christine moved away to examine a necklace. Gardeau grinned at Athos' displeasure and seeming jealousy.

"I deal in far more than jewels, my dear Comte," oozed Gardeau.

"Yes, I can see that; useless ornamental weaponry that will never see battle. The stone in this isn't even real," he said casting the dagger back onto the table.

"Athos!" said Christine scandalized, but Gardeau chuckled coldly.

"My Lord Athos is right your Grace. He has a fine eye," he said as he picked up the diamond necklace that she had been examining. It was a match to the description of one stolen from the Queen. "I deal in real weaponry as well," he said, gesturing to the large crates that stood in the corner. "I provided the ammunition at the last battle at Creon – to both sides, my dear Athos," he said coolly.

"Are you a traitor then?" Christine asked.

"I'm…a conservationist, as you put it. I conserve funds. And if the price is right I have no qualms parting with my wares or providing services. Petty arguments, land disputes - I have no interest in what the ammunition is used for once the transaction is complete," he said smugly as she forced out a giggle.

"The stones in the weapons are fake, put there for undiscerning wives searching for trinkets for bored husbands – women without your exceptional eye and beauty, your Grace. The ones in the jewellery, I can assure you, are all real," he said in a tone now dripping with honey. He fastened the diamond necklace around her neck.

"There," he said as she examined the necklace at her throat, "Perfection." The necklace dripped down her chest in an extravagant cascade of diamonds.

"Stunning," said the voice of a new man entering from behind Porthos and Aramis.

The man who entered was tall and dark haired. He was handsome and seemed to exude a threat of power and an air of ambivalence. There was an obvious shift in the room. The musketeers all tensed as he strode confidently towards Christine.

"Ah, yes," said Gardeau in a slightly annoyed tone, "Your Grace, my lord, let me introduce you to my brother, General Gardeau. Claude, this is the Duchess de Bari and the Comte de la Fere."

"Charmed," said the General kissing Christine's hand and staring deeply into her eyes. "Are you trying to show off for your new friends, Victor?"

Lord Gardeau frowned slightly. Clearly there was tension between the two.

Christine wasn't sure what the next play was so she stared back into the General's eyes coyly and hoped that Athos would take the lead.

"General," said Athos, breaking the man's gaze. "Your reputation precedes you…though I was unaware that you had a brother." Suddenly, the means of how these goods were procured was explained. In addition to theft and pawning, it seemed as though many of the goods must have been the plunder of war. That would explain the trade in arms, thought Athos.

The General grinned and nodded at Athos. "We're twins. As the younger, I chose a military life leaving my brother to rule as his lordship. I've always been too rough for polite society. Victor has always had the more delicate touch. I got all the looks from the bloodline," he said, winking at Christine.

"But none of the brains. I wasn't expecting you to be joining us tonight," said Lord Gardeau, clearly perturbed by being overpowered by his brother.

"I'm most glad I decided to attend," he responded looking at Christine once more; he still had not relinquished her hand. "Our guests are waiting, Victor," he said, further rankling his brother.

The tension and competition between the brothers was overwhelming. Clearly theirs was a toxic relationship. Christine decided to act. Turning from both men, she took Athos' arm. His cool confidence carried its own subtle power pulling the brothers' attention away from each other.

"Well now, boys," she said teasingly, "We shouldn't keep the others wanting."

Claude grinned at her and the new challenger, while Victor frowned. Claude bowed to her before leading them out of the room, his brother marching angrily behind him. It was clear that the Lord and General Gardeau had been in competition since birth, and Christine had the feeling that his lordship had not been the victor on most occasions. It was clear that he resented the presence of both his brother and Athos if it meant her focus was not solely on him, and, she suspected, it seemed as though it had been a long time since the Lord Gardeau had not gotten exactly what he wanted.

oOo


	67. By Any Other Name, Ch 6

By Any Other Name

Chapter 6

As the group approached the grand dining hall where the chatter of the other guests could be heard, Christine paused at the door. Reaching for the Lord Gardeau, she whispered breathily, "I'll need just a moment to gather myself before meeting your guests."

"I'll fetch you a something to drink and we can share a cup of wine…" He said and raised his eyebrow suggestively.

"I'd love that," she said as she forced a smile to her lips.

His eyes flared with confidence at her words; he led his brother and Athos into the ballroom with a wide grin on his face. The General threw a knowing wink at Christine as he passed.

The tension between the two Gardeau brothers seemed strong - stronger than Christine had thought. She felt as though she were adding more kindling to a fire – one that she hoped wouldn't end up burning them all.

Christine fell back away from the door and reached out for support. Aramis was there in an instant, his arms around her, holding her against him.

"Aramis," she panted, suddenly overwhelmed. The low rumble of the voices in the dining room sounded like a call to execution to her.

"Sh…just breathe mi tesora, just breathe," he said calming her.

At his prompting and in his arms her breathing regulated. Porthos was keeping watch.

"Is that better?" he asked her gently, his hands holding her tight against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I got overwhelmed suddenly."

Aramis ran his hand gently along her cheek. "Understandable. The General is a powerful force."

She shook her head. "The Lord and now the General? There's too many people in there…too many pieces. I'm not good at this Aramis, I don't know how to play these games. What if I'm caught?" she whispered, an urgency and panic in her voice.

Aramis kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. "You are doing amazingly," he assured her. "Keep playing the brothers off each and off Athos. There's tension there. We should use it!"

"I feel as though it's a powder keg, set to explode."

"I agree," said Porthos from where he watched the Gardeaus continue to one up each other to impress their guests from the door.

"What do I do?" Christine asked looking up at his dark eyes.

He frowned for a moment looking into her worried face. "Nothing. You are done. I'll make excuses. Take Bella and –"

"No! Aramis! They'll know something's up if I go missing. They could hurt Athos!"

Aramis frowned. "Christine you've done enough…"

"Aramis, we are finishing this together," she said fervently, the defiant fire he treasured burning brightly in her eyes. He couldn't help himself; he kissed her lips.

Imbued with his strength and confidence, Christine pulled herself together; he checked his pistols knowing his only job was to protect the woman he loved.

"Alright," he said as she prepared to enter the dining room, "Keep them distracted. Try to pit them against each other and keep the festivities going for as long as possible. Be petulant. They will try to out-do each other. Let them. Have them up the ante until you think that the room might explode, then get out of there. Keep them chasing you,' he said stroking her face once more.

"Like a fox. How I hate being a prize," she said miserably, but determinedly.

He grinned at her and kissed her again; the fire of diamonds still sparkled at her throat. She nodded at him firmly, and then, taking a breath and plastering a winning smile on her face, she breezed confidently into the room.

oOo

It was bad timing – or perfect timing – but the musicians ended their song just as Christine entered the dining room. All the attendees looked up simultaneously at the beautiful woman covered in jewels who appeared like magic into their midst.

"Well now, gentlemen," she announced in that sultry, breathy voice, "Let's not stop the party on my account…" she said with a laugh. The entire room laughed with her. Like a magnet Lord Gardeau was by her side, introducing her to the other guests that had arrived – The new Duke of Seville, an English Count and two merchants from Venice.

They sat down to an exquisite meal followed by a seemingly endless supply of wine. As the only woman at the table, the men clung to her every word. They told loud stories trying to win her laughter; even the new Duke of Seville, his wife seemingly forgotten, simpered for her attention.

Every man, save Athos and the General Gardeau.

Athos stood by the fireplace carefully watching as Christine laughed and flirted with the simpering fools, watching the Lord Gardeau grow more and more agitated. He still laughed and smiled, but the line his lips formed grew tighter and tighter. Only Athos, Aramis and Porthos could read the strain in Christine and her discomfort at the attention. To outside eyes, she was loving it.

"My brother's never really been one for competition," laughed the General lowly. Athos raised an eyebrow to look at him.

"And you are, I'm presuming?"

The General smirked and casting an appraising eye at Athos he said, "I've never really had much of it."

Athos took a slow pull from his goblet, his bright eyes matching the confidence of the man next to him. He said nothing, but stared smugly at the General. The General pulled his gaze from Athos to settle back on Christine. Feeling his eyes upon her, she glanced his way and blushed slightly when he grinned at her.

"Tell me, _**Lord**_ Athos," he said with some condescension, "Have you known the Duchess long? Her husband was invited to these festivities. Your name I am unfamiliar with."

Athos took another drink from his cup and smiled smugly at the General. "Did you not hear? Her husband died in a tragic accident. I've been at her pleasure ever since," he said, and the General laughed with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I had heard some rumours of it. You and her men seem quite attentive. She's quite lucky to have your support."

"Well, **_General_** , with title comes certain privileges. Perhaps your brother could enlighten you on the subject," he said, as the General glowered slightly at the comment and cast a dark look at where his brother whispered something in Christine's ear.

Gauntlet dropped, Athos moved away from the General to freshen his goblet.

Some of the guests were quite drunk by now, and Christine decided it was time to make her exit.

"Forgive me gentlemen, but this evening has been quite too much for me," she purred breathily. "I really must get to bed before you all tire of me," she said.

"I doubt that's possible," insisted Lord Gardeau rising.

"Indeed," said the General taking her hand once more and kissing it. "You have us enthralled. It was difficult to even win a moment of your attention. It's clear you have us wrapped around your fingers. I wonder what other talents you might have," he said lowly. The other men laughed uncomfortably. Lord Gardeau's eyes burned at his brother.

Christine was startled by the boldness of the comment, but recovered quickly, a slow smile coming to her face. "My apologies General. I promise to give you at least some of my focus tomorrow evening after the auction."

He grinned dangerously at her and she turned away from him, catching Aramis' eye. They burned darkly at the General. There was something in the General's tone, something predatory that was aggravating him, but he couldn't be sure if this was his typical sense for danger flaring or simply a surge of his protective nature. Or, he admitted to himself, just more jealousy.

"Your Grace," Victor Gardeau called after her, and she turned from Aramis and Porthos with a slight roll of her eyes before beaming at the Lord. "Though its magnificence is more obvious around your neck than on its cushion, I'll need to take that necklace back…until tomorrow evening, of course," he said.

She pouted slightly and whispered teasingly, "Pity, I'd hoped you'd forget," and turning, she allowed him to unclasp the heavy necklace from around her neck, her eyes locked on Aramis. His eyes were narrowed as the Lord's hands brushed against her neck, but at the look in her eyes Aramis swallowed and kept cool.

"Sleep well your Grace," Lord Gardeau said, also bowing and kissing her hand. The General watched his brother's every move darkly.

"I'm sure I will," she said breathily. "Athos, darling, shall you accompany me to my rooms?" she said, and turning from the Lord and from where the General watched, she gladly leant into Athos' arm as he led her out of the room followed by Porthos and Aramis. Both sets of Gardeau eyes followed her from the room wearing similar scowls, but it was impossible to know if they were scowling for the same reason.

oOo


	68. By Any Other Name, Ch 7

By Any Other Name

Chapter 7

They moved swiftly along the dark corridors until they had reached the safety of the Pink Room. Christine was shocked by how late it had grown. Her mind was filled with the events of the night.

She felt…heavy and uncomfortable suddenly, as though the weight of her lies and the character she had embodied were suddenly pulling her down. She shrugged her shoulders as though trying to dislodge a heavy cloak and she went to pour herself some water by the window. She couldn't look at the others just yet. She didn't want to look at any men or have another man look at her just yet.

It felt wrong to be using her body and her looks this way – donning this vapid and lascivious personality, which were totally out of her nature. She knew why she had to do it, but that didn't make it feel any less wrong or make her any more comfortable in the role.

And the way the men fawned and fought over her! It took every fibre of her being to force the smiles to her lips, when really, all she wanted to do was laugh out loud at the lunacy of it all.

This ridiculousness was everywhere at court, but at least as Christine, the Comtesse des Etoiles, she was free to speak out against the inanity and engage in political conversations. The Duchess however clearly just enjoyed the attention and preferred fluttering her eyelashes to offering an opinion. She didn't need to say much through dinner, only smile prettily and laugh lightly and the men ate it up. Wasn't this the mundane role of women that she had been fighting against her whole life - To be nothing more than an ornament, a smiling face and an object of desire? She felt low, like less than a person. She felt as though she had betrayed herself, betrayed all womankind by encouraging this idiocy.

The men had definitely not asked her many questions, more eager to tell their own tales to elicit her laughter. Who she was had little to do with it – it was the seductive promise of a wealthy widowed duchess, sparkling diamonds and a fine bosom.

Was this all it really took - To wield such power with the bat of an eyelash? Christine felt an overwhelming sense of pity and shame suddenly as she continued to gaze out to the darkness beyond the window and nervously wring her hands.

She was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn't even notice Aramis behind her until he gently touched her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked her softly, and she felt seen for the first time all evening.

"No," she muttered and glancing over his shoulder she noticed that they were alone.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

Aramis frowned. "They just left to inform D'Artagnan of what's passed." His dark eyes found her grey ones and they mined their depths. He paused for a moment then asked, "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

He was so earnest in his concern for her that she nearly wept.

"I'm trying to be brave and strong Aramis, but this is hard for me," she whispered sadly. "To willingly objectify myself, to smile and to laugh and to flirt – to play the fool and to belittle myself so much while they quarrel like children – or him, that general, who kept undressing me with his eyes – and I encouraged it! I provoked it! What kind of a woman does that to herself?"

"A woman like my mother, you mean?" he said quietly and she was stunned.

"Aramis! I didn't mean – " she gushed, realizing what she had said in the context of his response. She had forgotten his mother was a courtesan and that he had grown up surrounded by such women as the ones she described.

He kissed her softly to halt her apology and to show her he was not upset. He poured her some more water and leading her to a bench to rest, he began to speak softly.

"My mother," he began, "My mother dealt in smiles. Night after night I watched her don this mask while men inanely tried to impress her with their limited wit. And she laughed because she had to. She listened to their terrible stories, their bawdy jokes and endured their lecherous gazes. My mother did what she had to do in order to provide for us. She knew she held the power, and if one man grew too boisterous or too crude or too aggressive, she knew she could have her pick. She held power in that knowledge, and in the knowledge that there was a reason for her to be doing what she did. I didn't understand it for a long time, but I do now. She managed to change herself for them, but it was just her work, and in that, I think she held her power. She kept her true self separate, and so was never owned," he said. "I actually felt bad for some of those men – the ones who I think truly cared for my mother, because as beautiful as she was when she smiled and laughed for them, it was noting compared to the way she looked when she truly smiled when they weren't around – to what her true laughter sounded like. That was something she saved only for me and the few others that she cared for."

"Aramis, you aren't upset with me for behaving this way?" said Christine, her lip trembling slightly as the words of her husband washed over her, soothing her fears and nerves.

"Sh…mi amor, I know how difficult this must be for you. And it has been difficult for me to witness, but most of me feels great pity," he said and she raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. He smiled softly and gently kissed her mouth.

"I have told you many times how beautiful you are Christine, and I am honoured to be dazzled by it daily. But I am more honoured to be your husband, to hear you speak your mind and prove your wit and character, which far exceed my own. Those poor fools will never know the real you Christine, not the Christine I know, the Christine I treasure," he said kissing her knuckles. "They won't know your kindness or your laugh," he said kissing the inside of her wrist. "They won't know your strength or your righteousness," he said, a slight smirk coming to his lips as he kissed the inside of her forearm. "They won't know the brilliance of your mind or the skill of your hands or the magnificence of your true smile." He kissed the crook of her arms and continued to speak as he lips followed their path up her arm along her exposed shoulder. "I feel pity for those men who will never hear the sweetness of your true voice in the early morning; who were so unprepared to handle your beauty that they will miss all the other parts of you that I value so much and am allowed to witness each day by calling myself your husband."

His lips found hers and her world was righted. Oh to be seen – and seen by this man!

oOo


	69. By Any Other Name, Ch 8

_**A/N: It's late, and I can't sleep, so why not make use of this moonlight and post another chapter? Thank you so much for continuing to follow along!**_

* * *

By Any Other Name

Chapter 8

The night passed slowly. There was a tension in the house that seemed to perforate through every room. Porthos and Aramis traded shifts outside of Christine's door joined by Athos. D'Artagnan, who had become friendly with the guards in their barracks, was settled down for the evening with the horses, having scoped out the grounds, with a plan to keep the barracks distracted if everything fell into place…

Christine hardly rested. She tossed restlessly until finally giving in to her exhaustion sometime in the early morning hours.

She was awoken suddenly by slightly raised voices outside her door. Pulling her dressing gown about her shoulders, she opened the door to find Aramis and Porthos blocking her doorway and refusing the General Gardeau entrance into her chamber. Athos stood tensed behind the General, his hand prepared to pull his rapier if need be.

It took Christine a half moment to grasp the situation. "General!" she cried, "What time is it? This is hardly appropriate. I haven't even dressed yet," she said blushing sincerely as she drew her gown closer around her.

"No matter," said the General, "As I've just told your men, I had wished to join you for breakfast," he said, confidently.

Her eyes flickered to Athos who eyed the General before glancing quickly at Aramis. Her husband's eyes were dark as he glared at the General. He was grinding his teeth in order to stop himself from pulling his pistol.

"Please," she said, "I'm hardly presentable. It wouldn't be appropriate –"

"Are you shy suddenly? Quite the change from last night!" he mocked her raising an eyebrow. She blushed again, but met his challenge.

"Very well, if you are so determined...I warn you, I doubt I'll be good company. Gentlemen, let him," she said exasperatedly, turning away from the door and taking a seat at the table next to the window.

He grinned smugly as Porthos and Aramis parted to permit him to enter the room followed by a servant who set out an elaborate breakfast before making a hasty retreat. Aramis and Porthos followed closely behind and positioned themselves at the door. The General glanced back at them as he joined Christine at the table.

"Are your men strictly necessary?" he asked, again in a teasing manner.

"You're the one rising me at such an ungodly hour. I'm not aware of the purpose for your urgency –"

"Perhaps I thought you might enjoy the company of a real man for a change instead of listening to the simpering of my brother and our other guests. Perhaps I desperately needed to get you in a more intimate setting, in order to win your affection."

"So you forced yourself into my bedchamber," she snapped, a bit of the real Christine showing through.

"It's after eight," he grinned. "I like you better like this, when you're unlaced," he said suggestively.

Christine would have slapped him, but she glanced quickly at Aramis and Porthos who both seemed ready to pounce on the General and she calmed herself. It seemed as though the General reacted far better to strength than the dainty fool his brother preferred. She would need to put him in his place.

She sighed in a bored and exasperated way. "And here I thought you'd be different from those other bores," she drawled, "But you use the same practiced lines they all do."

The General grinned again at her, but a slight flush crept to his neck. "I'm not sure what you mean, my lady."

She laughed at him, and he tensed. Porthos and Aramis calmed slightly.

"Please, Claude," she said, "You must all study from the same book. You force yourself in here, desperate for my company, and you think you can trip me up with some suggestive word play, and we'll what? Fall into bed together?" Again she laughed at him.

"I know you'd much rather be talking about yourself while I bat my eyelashes and marvel at what a courageous and powerful man you are, but General, Claude, I am the Duchess de Bari, and my tastes are a little more refined now that my husband is dead and I have a duchy to run. Though, to be fair, I am rather fond of men in uniform," she said smugly as she popped a piece of fruit into her mouth and took a sip of wine.

He sat there stunned and she grinned at him before reaching forward and taking a second cherry from off of his plate. She was the alpha now and he was cowed in his confusion. "Tell me, General, are you sure you prefer me ungirdled?"

He frowned at her and began to quietly eat his breakfast like a scolded child. Aramis grinned at her and she flashed him a subtle wink.

After a few moments in which he cautiously and she carelessly ate their meal, he spoke. "I am trying to figure you out," he said, breaking their silence. "You pretend to be a lily of a woman, but clearly there is steel lining your petals. Who are you really? What are you after, I wonder?" he said, his tone cryptic.

She looked him square in the eye as she sipped from her glass again. "I want that pretty diamond necklace, and anything else that might catch my eye this evening. And if I need to prance and pout a bit to get what I want, so be it. I'm a Duchess. I always get what I want," she said arrogantly.

His eyes glowed at her as he replied, "So do I…"

There was a sudden knock at the door.

"Be a dear and fetch that," she dismissed him and with a grimace he rose to open the door.

At the door stood the Lord Gardeau with a handful of roses. "Claude" he said upon seeing his brother in the Duchess' room.

"Victor," he said tersely in response casting a cool look over his immaculately dressed brother.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked waspishly.

"The General was just leaving. He woke me at the crack of dawn and insisted on joining me for breakfast, despite my haggard appearance," she said adjusting her dressing gown slightly, for emphasis.

Claude grinned at his brother and left without saying a word. The Lord Gardeau was stunned, his anger obvious. "I had no idea that you and my brother were so…intimate," he said sharply.

She rose and, affecting a look of deep hurt, said, "My dear Lord, please don't misunderstand. Your brother insisted that I dine with him, but my men never left the room," she said, and coming to him, she placed her hands on his forearm. "The title of General holds no interest for me. He is no _Lord,"_ she said gripping his arm. His anger softened as he looked at how her unbound hair fell past her shoulders. Seeing this, she stepped back suddenly and pulled her dressing gown tight around her once more.

"Forgive me my Lord," she said piteously, "I hate to be before you in such a manner. Please, allow me time to dress and make myself presentable for your company," she purred and he gleamed. Where the General wanted strength, the Lord wanted only his ego boosted. Perhaps some men really were that simple, she thought.

"Will you walk with me this afternoon?" he asked.

"Sounds delightful," she said assuming that vapid breathy voice once again.

He smiled broadly, as though assured of his victory over his brother. "I shall return this afternoon. These are for you," he said and forcing the flowers into her hand, he marched triumphantly from the room.

She exhaled deeply and turned with a smile towards Porthos and Aramis. She nearly leapt as Athos and D'Artagnan entered the room, closing the door with a snap behind her.

"Aren't you a bit underdressed?" asked Athos dryly. D'Artagnan blushed and Porthos laughed as she crossed her arms in front of her and glared at Athos.

"My last two suitors brought me gifts," she snapped at him as she threw the roses onto the bed.

"Forgive me, your Grace. I did not bring you flowers, but a Gascon with information."

She smiled and said, "Well at least someone else is doing some work around here."

She moved to join the others near the table where Porthos was availing himself of the General's discarded breakfast. With a small smile Aramis removed his long doublet and draped it around his wife's shoulders. She held his hand for a moment – husband and wife sharing a brief but caring caress – before focusing in once more on the mission at hand.

"Tonight is our chance," said Athos. "Our goal is to arrest the Gardeau brothers and their guests and confiscate the items for sale."

"There are two guards stationed outside the room where the items are kept at all times," said Christine.

"And a dorm full of guards outside," said D'Artagnan.

"We'll need to prevent them from becoming a liability," said Athos. "I trust you have something in mind?" he asked.

The Gascon grinned. "You could say that. I'll have the horses ready for a quick escape if need be. Hopefully we won't need to abandon your carriage, Christine, but I'll leave it untethered just in case."

She smiled at him. "A willing sacrifice," she responded.

"The men guarding the room shouldn't be too much of a challenge," said Porthos.

"Once D'Artagnan has the barracks under control, you and he can take out the guards. We'll need you to pick the lock and begin loading the jewellery into the saddlebags. Ignore the weapons. The jewelled hilts and scabbards are all fakes," said Athos.

"Why do I get the feeling that a quick escape is seeming more and more necessary?" asked Aramis with a grin.

"What should I do?" asked Christine.

"You will need to help buy us some time. Keep the brothers distracted until D'Artagnan and Porthos have secured the goods. Aramis and I will cause a distraction allowing you to slip out to the stables to meet Porthos. We should have this all concluded by midnight. If we haven't joined you by then, you and Porthos are to ride to Paris."

"What?! No!" Porthos and Christine protested.

"Brother," said Aramis, seriously, looking at Porthos, silencing his protest.

"No," said Christine. "No! That was never part of the arrangement. I never agreed to leave any of you behind."

"That is the mission Christine," admonished Athos. "Our duty is to secure your safety and the stolen jewels."

"I am not a musketeer. I do not need to agree to this!" she protested.

"You are not a musketeer. You will not risk your life Christine. I will not risk it. We will not," said Aramis, sternly.

She turned and glared at him. "I am _not_ a liability," she said.

"Far from it," he soothed taking her face in his hand.

"You are our last line of defence," said Athos. "If something happens…if we are overrun, if they manage to get passed us and overtake even Porthos, we all have confidence in your horsemanship to get the jewels back to Paris. We have faith that if it comes down to it, you will complete our mission."

"All for one and one for all," D'Artagnan said solemnly.

"No," she said, shaking her head and gazing around at all of them. "This isn't fair, this isn't what I agreed to. I didn't agree to sacrificing any of your lives when I volunteered to take part in this –"

"Only your own," said Aramis quietly.

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean…" she said desperately, turning back to him and taking his face in her hands. "I mean, I knew the risks, but I did not realize their weight until now!" she said as she clung to him and stared fiercely into his eyes. He stared fiercely back and she knew there was no point arguing. She realized then how naïve she had been. They were a family and they each loved and valued each other beyond even their own lives, but at their cores, these men were musketeers and their honours would never allow her to put their lives before her own.

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked into her husband's eyes before catching the eyes of each of her brothers in turn.

"That is only something to think about should the worst happen," said Aramis, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

Porthos grinned. "Everythin'll be fine. We've been through worse."

"And these guards don't seem to do much other than aggravate visitors and stand guard," said D'Artagnan confidently.

She smiled softly at them, drawing strength from their confidence. Finally, she nodded.

"We are all getting out of here together," she asserted. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to put some clothes on while there still may be one or two men in this house who haven't seen me in my night clothes."

oOo


	70. By Any Other Name, Ch 9

By Any Other Name

Chapter 9

He met his brother on the front lawns and his mood soured immediately.

"That was quick brother," the General said mockingly. "Was the Duchess disappointed in you? Wouldn't be the first time, I've gathered."

The Lord glowered at his remarks and replied coolly, "Tell me brother, were you able to keep up with her conversation, or did you ask her to speak slowly using only four-letter words?"

Now it was the General's turn to blush. Instantly he drew a blade and held it to his brother's throat. "Careful Victor," he hissed, "Do you really want to be challenging me? That didn't go well for you last time, did it? With that blonde marquis' daughter - What was her name?" he goaded, tightening his grip on his brother who strained to pull away from the blade.

"Michelle," Victor hissed, a look of rage and embarrassment on his face as his brother released him and he dropped to the ground.

"That woman isn't who you think she is," he said nastily as he left his brother in the dirt. "She will use you, and make a fool of you. Just like Michelle did."

oOo

The morning passed quickly and before long there was a sharp rap on the door.

Victor Gardeau had returned. He seemed edgy. His eyes brightened as they looked upon her, once more dressed formally. He coveted every inch of her, triggering all kinds of alarms in the back of Christine's mind. She swallowed this sensation and smiled at him.

Keep him off balance, keep him distracted, she reminded herself.

She had been alone with Aramis, the others having gone to scout out the likely places where guards might be posted and where there might be impediments to their escape should one be necessary.

"Is it time for our walk already, my lord?" she asked, stoking his ego by putting emphasis on those last two words. His pride swelled as she rose to greet him. Aramis also stood. Gardeau threw him a withering glare.

"I had hoped that we might enjoy our company alone," he said tersely. Aramis frowned. She cast a subtle glance towards her husband. She had to keep Gardeau bewildered. If she refused him now it could ruin everything.

She smiled warmly at Gardeau and with a fleeting glimpse at Aramis once more she said, "Of course my lord, whatever you desire."

She could feel Aramis tense behind her.

"Your Grace –" he began but Gardeau interrupted.

"As I promised earlier, you can be assured you will be safe in my arms," he oozed taking her elbow. There was something predatory in the action – the first true indicator that the Lord and the General were actually twins.

"Christine –" said Aramis reaching for her arm. Something wasn't right about this situation. The Lord was wound too tightly; the arrival of his brother had changed something in the man. He was more aggressive and more possessive of Christine than before. Aramis didn't trust it.

The Lord stiffened as Aramis used her first name and made contact with her other elbow. They stood for a moment trapped in a tableau – Christine, literally caught between the two men, gazing down at her elbow where Aramis protectively held her, staring at her face, wariness and concern clear in his expression, and the Lord, eyes narrowed and glaring at Aramis and where he dare lay a hand upon his newest prize.

"I am quite fine to walk with the Lord unaccompanied," she said lightly pulling her arm from his grip. She patted the left side of her skirt as though to smooth a wrinkle, but Aramis took that gesture as an indicator that Christine had her dagger hidden within its folds. "I'm honoured that you'd entertain me this way Victor. It is my mission to keep you distracted until the sale tonight," she said and turned to gaze determinedly into her husband's eyes, her words a reminder.

"I will be safe for an hour or so. And we shall not go far," she added. Aramis frowned as she turned away from him and taking the Lord's elbow they exited the room.

oOo

Christine walked with Lord Gardeau across the flowering gardens.

He was tense, so Christine kept up a stream of chatter which he participated in, but there was an edge to him that wasn't present the night before. They returned to the house and entered a large hallway lined with portraits.

It was hot. He poured them a glass of wine from a carafe on a table at the mouth of the hall and loosed his cravat slightly.

"What's that?" Christine asked as she eyed the thin red line across his throat.

"Nothing," he said, "My valet was careless," and he refastened his cravat.

Christine moved away from him and began to examine some of the portraits that lined the wall.

"What a proud and noble bearing your ancestors had," she cooed. "It's apparent you come from a good line," she said and he smiled a little at her comment.

"My family has always glorified in our success. Commerce, business and acquisition are what mattered. With money, you can always pay to have your problems solved. Anything can be bought. Honour, loyalty, bravery…love."

Christine frowned. "Some would argue that those are actually the qualities that can't be purchased."

"And what would you say?" he asked, challenging her.

Christine blushed and quickly tried to separate her thoughts from those of the Duchess. She smiled at him and turned away as she continued her progress.

"As the Duchess de Bari, I can say I've never been in a position to need to buy a man's loyalty or love," she said.

"No perhaps not, but I wonder at what price do you set your love? What is the cost for your affection?"

She raised her chin, her eyes flashing at him. "My affection or a place in my bed?" she asked coldly. "I am shocked at you. That is the language I'd expect from your brother, not from a gentleman! I should like to return to my room."

"Forgive me," he said, slightly mollified. "I was distracted by something my brother had said." His eyes flickered to a portrait of a blonde woman hanging in an ornate frame.

Christine followed his gaze. "Who is she?" she asked.

"That was my Michelle," he said, his voice dropping to frozen temperatures. "She married my brother. She died in his bed."

oOo

Aramis was pacing in the Pink Room when Athos returned to it.

Before he could even speak, Athos murmured, "We're doing this tonight. The general's arrival changes everything. There are too many variables and I don't want Christine in any more danger."

Aramis maintained his composure and fought the urge to embrace Athos at these words. Instead he said, "Hopefully D'Artagnan's found a way to keep those other guards at bay."

"And a way out of here…"

Aramis smirked. "Strategic training for the boy was your domain. Mine was more affairs of the heart."

Athos rolled his eyes. "Heart we know he has. Let's hope he proves he has brains as well. Where is Christine?" he asked noticing her absence and his brother's agitation.

"Alone with Victor Gardeau," he said darkly. "She refused to let me accompany them. He insisted…"

Athos nodded and catching Aramis' eye he said, "She will be fine. Have faith in her."

"Faith in her I have," Aramis said, running his hands once more through his hair, "but one can have faith and fear at the same time. If he so much as touches her…"

"She will be fine," Athos insisted, his cool eyes not allowing his own fear to show through to his brother. With a sigh, Aramis nodded and resumed his pacing.

oOo

Christine returned to her room, the cryptic and strange behaviour of Victor Gardeau filling her head.

She shut the door behind her and turned to face the intense gazes of Athos and Aramis.

"Christine –"

"You should not have gone off with him on your own –"

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked taking her face into his hands and gazing deeply into her eyes.

She lifted her chin and kissed him softly. "I love you," she whispered and she saw him relax slightly. She took his hand and led him towards the bench. "I'm fine," she said, "but confused. Gardeau was on edge throughout our entire walk."

"Did he hurt you?" asked Aramis tensing again. She shook her head and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"No, nothing like that. I believe that he had some sort of altercation, most likely with his brother. He was cut," she said, gesturing to her neck. "It looked like by a blade – though he said it was only his valet's carelessness."

Aramis and Athos shared a look and likely a thousand words in the flicker of their eyes.

"There's something else…there was a woman, Michelle. She's the General's dead wife. I think that Victor loved her. There's anger there…and betrayal. I worry about the Lord Gardeau. He seems…unhinged…"

"More of a reason for you to have not gone off alone with him," said Aramis quietly.

She squeezed his hand again and stared apologetically at him. "I'm sorry, but if I had refused…"

"If something had happened, there would have been nothing that I could have done…"

She kissed him again and with another squeeze she hoped her eyes showed the depth of her regret for having worried him.

There was a knock and the door opened suddenly as the bearded valet from their arrival entered the room. He gasped as he took in the scene of Aramis and Christine holding each other in their caring embrace. He made to call out, but a flash of metal silenced him as Athos' dagger found itself in his throat. The diamond necklace spilled from his hands as he fell.

Christine ran to shut the door as Aramis and Athos moved to the body.

"We need to hide the body," said Athos as Aramis pulled the sheets from the bed.

"This complicates things," he muttered as he and Athos rolled the valet in the duvet and hid the body behind the long drapes.

"Looks like Gardeau has sent you a gift," said Athos, handing her the necklace.

"Yes," she frowned, "but which one?"

oOo


	71. By Any Other Name, Ch 10

_**A/N: Hello everyone! So sorry to have deviated from my posting schedule - trying to make the best of the final days of summer before we're encased in another 10 months of winter. so, like the good Canadian i am, I've been heading out to the woods for some R &R - and the internet out there sucks! There a few chapters left, so i'm aiming to get this story completed before Labour Day! cheers!**_

* * *

By Any Other Name

Chapter 10

Christine entered the dining room on Athos' arm with Aramis trailing behind.

The setting sun was beginning its descent beyond the horizon coating the room in a bloody shade of red. The dining room was empty save for the General Gardeau who stood by the large fireplace holding his glass of wine. He looked up at them inquisitively as they entered.

"I was beginning to think I had the wrong address," he said jokingly.

Athos casually took two glasses of wine from the servant who approached them and handed one to Christine. "And here I thought we were fashionably late," he quipped, though his eyes flashed towards Aramis. Something was not right.

"Are the others not coming?" Christine asked.

"I sent them away. I thought it best if I afforded you a private audience," said the Lord Gardeau as he swept into the room. At least a dozen men flanked him and took up positions around the circumference of the room.

"That was very kind of you, but hardly necessary," she said. "Where will the fun in the auction be now?"

"I thought commerce was your passion brother. It is foolish to dismiss your patrons before closing any sales. I didn't work so hard to procure these items so you could push aside our profit," said the General angrily.

His brother's eyes flashed menacingly. "I have had many passions brother. In the end, I always get what I want. The others will have their pick of what remains once the Duchess has indulged her fantasies."

"Shall we eat?" suggested Athos in an attempt to break up the tension in the air. Christine couldn't help but notice every man in the room was armed.

They took their places at the table, the cavernous dining room echoing their stilted conversation as the servants moved silently around them.

"You look beautiful tonight," said Lord Gardeau and Christine blushed slightly. Her discomfort was natural now – the farce was gone. The tension in the room left no space for the "Duchess".

"Thank you," she said, and steeling her nerves, she forced a smile to her lips.

"I am glad that you have accepted that necklace as a token of my affection," he said, and Christine nearly dropped her fork in surprise. The valet had been unable to deliver his message with Athos' dagger embedded in his throat. Her hand flew to her throat to where the diamonds sparkled. Athos' wide eyes were watching both Gardeaus.

"This…is too fine a gift," she said breathlessly, trying to regain her composure.

"It has no equal," he said. "Nor do you."

"It has no value either, as you didn't purchase or commission it," spat the General pushing his plate back and away from him as though in disgust and grasping the wine bottle from the hapless servant. He upended the contents into his glass and demanded another bottle.

"Forgive my brother, my dear. He so hates to lose," said Victor and he stood from the table and began to walk around it slowly. He paused for a moment by Christine and made an elaborate show of running his fingers lightly across her collar where the necklace rested just above her breast. She fought to stay motionless and impassive.

"Don't you ever get tired of stealing things, brother? Have you never once wanted to win something on your own? Or is your solution always to throw gold at the matter when your charm fails? which I hear it often does," said Claude, his eyes dark. It was difficult to know whether he was glaring more at Christine or his brother. She fixed her eyes on Aramis who stood behind the General across the room. His dark eyes were black as coals in the candlelit hall and she watched as his hands shifted slowly towards his pistols while Victor lingered at her side.

"You're one to talk about stealing," Victor hissed as he slowly continued his journey around the table.

Claude laughed loudly. "This is still about Michelle, isn't it? She didn't love you Victor, she told you that! And when she rejected you, rejected your title and the gold and riches you offered her, for me, oh, how that infuriated you! You could never get over that! Your jealousy is a nasty thing!" Victor continued to stalk towards his brother. Shadows flitted across his face as he circled giving him the look of a jungle predator on the hunt.

"I loved her," he breathed, his voice full of years of suppressed rage.

"But she loved me," taunted Claude.

"She got what was coming to her in the end," snarled Victor, and Claude blanched suddenly, shaken for the first time.

"What did you do?" he growled leaping to his feet and seizing his brother by the throat.

"What needed to be done," Victor hissed and in a flash he pulled his dagger and plunged it deep into his brother's heart. "You should have known, brother, that it was you who should never have competed with me. I always get what I want," Victor hissed as the body of Claude fell lifelessly to the floor. "Now you," said Victor, drawing his pistol and pointing it at Athos.

In the half a heartbeat it took Christine to react, she shoved back the heavy dining table, pushing it roughly into Gardeau's side as his pistol rang out across the room, causing it to miss Athos by inches.

"Guards!" he cried as Athos sprang to his feet and both he and Aramis drew their weapons.

oOo

D'Artagnan had been struggling with his role as part of this mission.

Not struggling really – he had been given a comfortable bunk in the stables and was served three meals a day from the staff. The guards were content to welcome him amongst them, as he marvelled at their swordplay swearing his blade was purely ornamental: his mistress liked to pretend as though she were the Queen surrounded by Musketeers and insisted he be armed, he joked. A few lost hands of cards and D'Artagnan was practically recruited into their number.

It was more that D'Artagnan struggled with his worry for his friends and the not knowing exactly what was happening within the manor. Athos and Porthos had kept him abreast of any developments, and he knew with their plan underway this evening, his role would be vital.

As the sun finally sank, D'Artagnan staggered over to the barracks where the soldiers who were not on duty were stationed, carrying a wood crate in his arms.

"Charles!" one of the men called to him, "What's that you've got there?"

"The Mistress seems to have forgotten that she brought some refreshments along with her. I figure, this would be one less thing I'd need to pack back onto that carriage when we leave here tomorrow," he said grinning. "Care to join me?"

The men cheered as D'Artagnan lowered the box.

"Won't she be angry if you're caught?" one man asked.

"The Mistress? She'll be more preoccupied with whatever sparkly trinket she came here to purchase to even notice, and then I'm sure I could blame it on that lush nobleman who's been hanging about lately," he responded with another mischievous grin. "Still, we probably shouldn't let this linger…"

"Good man!" cried the first man, raising a toast to D'Artagnan. The men drank and drank quickly, intent to finish the case of wine before they were potentially caught. It wasn't long before most of the men were either fast asleep, out cold or on their way to one of those destinations.

D'Artagnan slipped out of the barracks shaking his head and shutting the door behind him. He tightly tied a rope to the door's knob and fastened the other end securely to a tree as Porthos met him.

"What's this?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "I didn't have a key," he said as Porthos grinned realizing the brilliance of D'Artagnan's plot. The men inside would be essentially trapped lest they wrest the door from its hinges. Pulling would be futile with the door tethered to the tree, and the ancient oak door would be impossible to pull from its iron-wrought bindings.

"How is the patrol?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Sleepin' bout as soundly as your lot," Porthos answered. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the manor.

"By all means," said D'Artagnan as he followed Porthos into the great home.

oOo

The two men stood at the ready by the locked double doors. There was a tension in the air, but that was usually the case when the General was around. Tonight though felt different, and even the sun seemed to be dripping with blood as their master and about a dozen of their comrades entered the dining hall.

From down the hall staggered a large, dark skinned man leaning heavily upon a younger man. He was easily recognized as one of the men who accompanied the Duchess. The two guards closed ranks to block the door from the two others' approach.

"Please sirs, you must help me. My friend Porthos here has…well…he's drunk. I've never been in the manor as of yet and I've got to get him stowed in his lodging before my mistress sees him," D'Artagnan implored desperately.

The two guards grinned and relaxed as D'Artagnan shifted Porthos' weight upon his shoulder. "You're gonna have a hell of a time gettin' this load up the stairs," one smirked at him while the other chuckled as D'Artagnan blanched. "Take the main staircase down that hall. It's the third door on the left," said one gesturing.

"Down there?" D'Artagnan asked, gesturing down the hall with his free hand. Both men looked to where D'Artagnan was pointing and with their gazes averted, Porthos leapt into action and knocked the first man unconscious with a heavy blow from his mighty fist. Before the other could so much as gasp, D'Artagnan was on him, holding him tightly in a chokehold until he eventually lost consciousness and went limp in the Gascon's arms. They bound and gagged the guards and stowed their bodies in a closet just off the hallway.

Porthos got to work picking the locks while D'Artagnan kept watch, pulling two fabric sacks from his belt.

"I wouldn't be offended if I was you," muttered Porthos through a mouthful of picks as he worked on the lock.

"What?" asked D'Artagnan distractedly. He thought he had heard raised voices coming from the Dining Room.

"By what they said. I can work with ya, to help put some muscle finally on those chicken bones ya call arms," he said with a grin as the lock clicked open.

"Perhaps they were insinuating that you might consider dieting?" D'Artagnan suggested as they pushed the doors open and the room practically glowed as the candlelight danced across the many jewelled items.

""Nah," said Porthos, his eyes glowing before the splendour. "Definitely not," he said as he began to stuff fistfuls of the jewellery into one of the bags D'Artagnan handed him.

Suddenly a pistol shot tore the air, followed by a cry for "Guards!"

D'Artagnan and Porthos looked at each other before abandoning the bags of jewels now on their empty table as they flew back out into the hall towards the dining room and where their loved ones were in danger.

oOo


	72. By Any Other Name, Ch 11

By Any Other Name

Chapter 11

"Guards!" screamed Gardeau as the heavy wooden table smashed into his hip throwing his shot at the miserable Comte off. He looked up in time to see her wide panicked eyes from where she stood panting. Her chair had been thrown back in her effort to push the table into him.

Athos and Aramis had drawn weapons and were currently engaged with the guards who descended on the pair like hungry wolves over a carcass. One guard grabbed Christine roughly by the arm and she cried out. She pulled her blade from the folds of her skirt and plunged it into her captor. He immediately released his grip on her arm and fell. She relieved him of his blade just as another of the guards set his sights on her.

Once the pistol had been fired, Athos had no opportunity to look to see where the shot had gone, but hearing Aramis drawing his rapier and engaging the guards to his right, he drew his as well and met the first attackers that leapt forward at their master's call. The first man fell easily, but they were severely outnumbered. He heard Christine cry out and his head whipped from side to side trying to place her in the room, but everywhere he turned more men seemed to spring from the shadows.

Aramis turned as Gardeau's cry went out and he met the charging guards head on. He fired his pistol as he drew his sword. The first man fell swiftly to his blade but he was quickly replaced by another. Aramis threw his elbow into the face of the man and followed through with a swipe from his parrying dagger.

Then he heard her cry out and his heart stopped.

He plunged his dagger into the breast of his foe, letting it remain there as he turned and ran towards Christine, mounting the fallen dining chair and running across the table's surface to come to a rest at her side just as she met an attacker with the rapier she had pulled from her previous combatant. He stood at her side and deftly fought any man who dared approach his wife. Two more fell to his skill as she defeated her own enemy.

The Lord Gardeau was beside himself as he watched her wield the weapon. The delicate flower he had coveted was stripped away. He watched as her guard flew to her side and the way he reached for her as they defeated his men.

Aramis held her close for half a second as they both acknowledged their relief that the other was uninjured.

With a roar D'Artagnan and Porthos forced their way into the room. They immediately engaged with the remaining men, standing on either side of Athos.

"Aramis! Go!" cried Athos as another man fell to his deadly blade. Aramis nodded and grasping her hand, pulled Christine from the room.

The Lord Gardeau roared and chased after them, nearly colliding with the two men who had been stationed at the front door. They had abandoned their post hearing the commotion from inside and were drawn into the melee.

The Lord's rage had peaked. He plunged his blade into his own hapless man, tossing the body aside in his pursuit of Christine and Aramis.

He had been betrayed again! She had played him as a fool! She was no Duchess!

Blood dripped from his expensive jacket and tarnished his golden hair and buttons.

He roared again as he kicked the doors open to the room where the jewels had been stored and fired his remaining pistol wildly at the pair. Christine cried out as she ducked for cover from the blast.

"Christine!" cried Aramis ferociously, dropping the bag of jewellery onto the floor at his feet as he ran to her side.

"I'm fine!" she panted, "Look out!" she said as she pushed him aside just in time to counter the wild overhead strike from Gardeau with her blade.

She cried out as her blade reverberated from the impact sending shooting pains up her arm. The force of the stroke was so great that she was unable to hold onto her weapon and she fell to the floor. The Lord was incensed, his eyes now a demonic black. He raised his blade again preparing to kill Christine in his rage.

"You lied to me! You're all the same! No woman can be trusted! You too will get what you deserve!" he cried out as he raised his blade to deliver the devastating stroke.

Christine scrambled backwards trying to put distance between herself and the mad Gardeau. Her back hit the crates of weapons and ammunition that sat next to the table that still sparkled with its ornate weaponry. She was trapped, pinned against the crates, but her grey eyes stared up at Gardeau defiantly as he raised his blade.

Suddenly, Aramis threw himself into Gardeau's body and the pair went crashing into the weapon-laden table. The men wrestled on the ground. Aramis came out on top when suddenly Gardeau managed to draw a thin knife he had secreted up his sleeve and he slashed out at Aramis. Aramis had brought his forearm up to defend himself and he felt the blade cut. It cut deep, tracing along the bone of his forearm. He rolled off the Lord and sprang to his feet, grasping a blade from the floor and discarding its ornate sheath.

Gardeau rose similarly, a rapier in his hand. "Who is she?" he snarled as he attacked Aramis with wild and deadly abandon. "What is she to you?"

Christine struggled to her feet, her arm sending white-hot pulses from her wrist to her shoulders as her muscles protested their abuse. She tried to focus as Aramis fought Gardeau. His snarl of pain as the blade cut his flesh shocked her out of her stupor. She saw Aramis and Gardeau face off once again.

Somewhere in the background there was an acrid smoke building. A candelabra had been knocked to the floor when the table was up-ended and the curtains were beginning to catch fire. Gardeau continued to attack Aramis, lashing out at his injured side.

Gardeau was an excellent swordsman and was fuelled by a lifetime of rage, and betrayal – one that he saw satisfied but revisited in the murder of his brother and the revelation that Christine was not, in fact, the Duchess de Bari.

Aramis managed to lock blades with Gardeau, both men sweating and panting heavily in the effort to overpower each other. Reaching forward, Gardeau grasped Aramis by his wounded arm. Aramis let out a strangled cry at the pain, but managed to hold on and continue to occupy the blade, though he was weakening under the continued pressure of Gardeau's grip.

Christine's gaze roved across the floor and spying the large green stone on the dagger that Athos has been examining the day before, she leapt for it.

"Who is she?" Gardeau snarled again as he increased the pressure on Aramis' forearm. He cried out once more, no longer able to fight off the man and the pain. He dropped his blade and a look of feral triumph sprang to Victor Gardeau's face.

He raised his blade in victory to deliver his killing blow…

But the stroke never fell.

The rapier suddenly fell from his hand as Gardeau let out an inarticulate cry. His arms flailed wildly as he turned to face a heavily panting Christine. The jewelled dagger was half-immersed in his back. With a violent thrust Aramis pushed the blade the remainder of the way in and Gardeau fell to his knees.

Aramis pulled Christine into him, sheltering her injured arm, his own damaged forearm bleeding heavily but forgotten for the time being.

Before them, Gardeau knelt gasping as his lungs filled with blood.

"What is she to you?" he muttered again, his eyes round and unfocused, blood speckling his mouth as he stared at the pair of them as if revisiting one of his worst memories as his life seeped away from him - betrayal.

"I'm his wife," said Christine proudly as the Lord Gardeau finally fell back, defeated, and breathed no more.

Aramis didn't stop. His hand found her face and he pulled her into a short but passionate kiss before breaking away. Their eyes scanned the burning curtains and their proximity to the crates of ammunition. His stomach dropped to his feet.

"Go!" he said pushing Christine in front of him. He bent over and grabbed the two bags holding the jewellery with his uninjured arm.

They met Athos, D'Artagnan and Porthos just as they emerged from the dining room.

"Run!" Christine cried as she blew past them, Aramis at her heels. The others did not need telling twice. They ran through the house out the back door by the kitchens. They could hear the pounding of the guards on the barrack's door. They fled to the stables where their horses stood tacked and mounted swiftly, Aramis seated behind Christine, pressing her to his chest.

They spurred their horses from the stable just as the east wing of the home erupted in a blaze of wood, orange fire and gunpowder.

oOo


	73. By Any Other Name, Ch 12

By Any Other Name

Chapter 12

They halted as the blaze lit up the night, the silhouette of the servants and remaining guards could be seen fleeing through the woods on foot or on horseback on one of the liberated horses.

The fire went up and burnt out quickly, taking the hundreds year old mansion's east wing with it. The gunpowder had burned hot and bright pulling down brick and stone before settling in a smoking heap. Much of the west wing seemed to be undamaged.

"We should ride," said Athos, wiping blood from his own brow, but whether his own or an enemy's Christine didn't know. She felt Aramis' arm tremble at her waist and looked down to see the blood that had soaked through his doublet. Taking the reins from him in her uninjured arm she turned the horse.

"We can't," she said. "Not until I've fixed his arm and had a look at that blood on your head," she insisted. Her eyes flashed at him in the darkness. She was done being the Duchess and would no longer follow meekly along with the will of men.

"She's right," said Porthos, eyeing the way she too held her injured arm.

"We can take shelter in the stables," said D'Artagnan. "The remaining staff and guards will have all fled with the horses at this point."

Christine nodded. "We can stay until the morning."

Athos looked at her, and seeing the pale form of his brother behind her, clearly not protesting, he agreed.

D'Artgnan had been correct in his assessment, and the stables were empty when they returned save for signs of the stable hands' hasty retreat.

Aramis lowered himself out of the saddle, but his knees buckled as his feet hit the ground. Bella stomped in panic and Christine fought to control the mare with her one arm. D'Artagnan soothed the horse as Christine dismounted and flocked to Aramis' side. Porthos had helped him to D'Artagnan's bunk and out of his doublet. Christine gasped when she saw the bloodied mess of a wound. He was pale and he had his non-bloodied arm pressed to his forehead.

"Aramis," she whispered, placing her hand lightly on his chest.

"I'm fine my love," he muttered, opening his eyes to look at her. "I just have a slight headache from the blood loss," he said. She frowned at him knowing full well what kind of pain and danger he must be in, but she only kissed him lightly and instructed Porthos to help her roll up his sleeve.

Athos had searched the stable master's quarters and managed to find the makings of a medical kit. He locked eyes on Christine who stood frowning at her husband's side. She looked to Athos and he could easily read the worry in her face.

"My arm," she said, by way of an explanation. "I can't use it. The elbow is hyper-extended."

Athos' eyes grew wide and Aramis grimaced, but she simply shook her head at their concern. "It will be fine in a few days, but I will not be able to stitch this wound…"

D'Artagnan stepped forward. "I can do it…though it won't be as neat as you or Aramis would do it."

She smiled at him, flushed with relief. "Thank you," she whispered, touching his forearm, her grey eyes wide and full of a grateful love. D'Artagnan covered her hand in his and returning a smile, he set about repairing their marksman.

As D'Artagnan and Porthos worked on Aramis, Athos led Christine to a seat. Carefully he unrolled some bandages and began to fashion a sling for her arm. She groaned in pain as Athos examined her arm, but her eyes never left Aramis' face. She knew he was in pain but she could hear him softly talking D'Artagnan through the process, Porthos' large hand for support on his shoulder.

Athos looked into her face and she finally pulled her eyes away from her husband.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her as he washed the blood from her arm. "Aramis was right. This was too dangerous. It was too close. I never should have gotten you involved."

She frowned slightly and tried not to cry out as Athos' fingers gently prodded her arm.

"Athos, it's fine. We completed the mission," she soothed, "And you didn't force me to do any of this. I was glad to help."

"But at what cost?" he asked her, his hands stilling where they held hers. "You were in danger far too many times. I never should have encouraged you to bait those men, to put yourself in the middle of their violent relationship…When the fighting began, and I heard you cry out, I felt fear as I haven't known in ages," he admitted. She squeezed his hand tightly and his bright eyes met hers.

"You saved my life Christine, and I don't just mean tonight when you pushed Gardeau's shot off," he said quietly. "When we were children, I was only happy when I was with you at your home. I felt love for the first time. Those weeks in the summer were the only bright spot in my year, and when and your father left, I was devastated, but I was never angry. Not at you. Never at you."

A single tear fell from Athos' eyes and Christine gently brushed it away staring into the face of the brother she loved.

"I am glad that both Gardeaus are dead. Their brotherhood was poison and it killed them both in the end. There is nothing I wouldn't give to have Thomas back, and I will forever be grateful to have gotten you, my sister, returned to me."

Soft tears trailed down her cheeks at these words and she laughed lightly and brushed them away too.

"I love you Olivier. I'm so glad I found you," she whispered.

He smiled softly then frowned a bit. "I'm glad to hear you say that, for this is going to hurt," he said, lifting the sling and quirking an eyebrow at her. She laughed out loud, and then nodding, she allowed Athos to place her arm within the support.

Try as she might, she couldn't surpress the moan of pain as Athos guided her arm into the sling. His eyes widened in concern, but she shook her head and after a second to compose herself, she gave him a weary smile.

At her outcry Aramis had tried to force himself upright, but Porthos' strong arm kept him in place.

"Stop struggling or you'll ruin _my_ needlework," D'Artagnan admonished.

Christine rose and moved to sit next to him on the bed.

"What a couple of sights we are," she laughed as she examined D'Artagnan's stitching. "This is well done," she told him and he grinned thankfully before he began to wrap the wound.

"Your dress is ruined," Aramis said softly as the others moved about setting up sleeping positions for the night. There were a few stalls with bunks in them, so at least they would all get a bed.

Christine sighed, "A willing sacrifice. I'm so glad you're alright," she whispered as she kissed his lips.

He closed his eyes and smiled at her. "We're all alright," he said, and pulling her to him so she lay next to him on the bed, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

oOo


	74. By Any Other Name, Ch 13

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone for ready this recent instalment of The Christine Series! I really appreciate everyone for taking the time to review and read and drop me some PMs telling how they feel about the stories I'm working into this verse. Your continued enthusiasm means the world!**_

 _ **Here's the last chapter for this episode, but there's plenty more in store! Cheers!**_

* * *

By Any Other Name

Chapter 13

They woke the next morning and surveyed the damage of the home.

Much of the West wing was still intact including the Pink and Green rooms that Christine and Athos had stayed in. Christine was relieved that they were able to salvage the Queen's red dress. Porthos liberated libations from the kitchen and they had a hearty meal before leaving.

Aramis would ride with Christine in the carriage for the return journey. Though he insisted he was quite recovered, he was still weak from the loss of blood and his headache lingered. Athos would ride Bella back to Paris – his own head injury having only been minor and not requiring stitches.

Christine emerged in one of her preferred gowns and not one of her formal courtly gowns, and the musketeers all smiled to see their friend at ease despite her injured arm.

The trunks were piled high and the jewels were safely stowed as they set out to return home. Aramis slept for the first part of the trip, his head in Christine's lap as she lovingly carded her fingers through his hair.

They arrived in Paris and Treville's eyes grew wide upon seeing the Comtesse and Aramis in bandages. Athos gave their report and when he was done he sat back in his chair.

"Christine performed exceptionally," Athos reiterated. "She controlled the situation at all times. She saved my life and managed to fight off her own attackers when the fight began. The King should know of what she has done for the crown."

"Please, Athos, Captain. I am no musketeer. I insist that the King not be made aware of my involvement and that his full praise should fall on the regiment."

"Not a musketeer?" Treville asked, his eyebrow rising. "You impersonated a Duchess to recover jewels for the crown, you executed the entire operation, you saved my lieutenant and my marksman in the midst of battle, and you managed to blow up half of an estate in the process. I think that more than qualifies you to rank among this lot," Treville said, and the others couldn't help but grin at the slight admonishment.

Christine grinned back and gave a small laugh. "True, but I also would prefer not to be on Louis' bad side when he realizes the weaponry was all destroyed in the blast. I'd like to keep my position at court among his favourites," she said and, uneasily, they laughed slightly, knowing how likely it would be that the King might be displeased that they were unable to recover the munitions despite the bounty of the returned jewellery.

"That's the difference," Treville said, "You're much more clever than we are." He gave a rueful smile and an exasperated sigh. "I'll inform the King of what he needs to know. Perhaps the rumours were false and it was simply an auction for precious stones…you're all dismissed…And Christine, thank you."

"It was my honour, Captain."

oOo

The night was cool, and Aramis drew his wife closer to him as he felt her shiver slightly. He was careful not to jostle her arm, which was still recovering. The bruising had faded slightly and she no longer required the sling to support the arm, and though she would never cause him to worry by admitting to her pain, he knew those eyes well enough to know when certain motions caused the still healing joint to flare. His own injury was healing well beneath its bandage, and he had returned to duty

The window was open and the soft breeze fluttered the pages on the book he had been reading. She had fallen asleep against him as he read to her in the comfort of their library. He held her and savoured every moment of their peace – the smell of her hair, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed, the warm crackle of the fire as it combatted the cool evening air, the softness of her cheek as it rested against his chest. The way she held him tightly, even in her sleep, certain that he was hers and he would protect her.

He stared down at Christine, at his world, and for the millionth time since they completed the Gardeau affair, he sent a prayer of thanks to his God that they had survived and had not been too badly injured.

The King had exalted in the return of the jewels and the additional wealth that the Musketeers had recovered. There was no mention of the destroyed weaponry nor of Christine's involvement. When asked about her injured arm, Christine had laughed it off.

"A consequence of my carelessness and nothing more," she said and listened patiently as the King informed her of his medical opinions. Only the Queen looked concerned, having been party to Christine and the musketeers' scheme, but with a reassuring smile from Christine, she was comforted.

A bird called from outside interrupting the stillness of the night and Christine stirred.

"I'm sorry," she said, raising her chin to stare into her husband's face, "I must have drifted off. What terrible company I must be."

Aramis grinned at her and kissed her softly. "The worst," he agreed and kissed her again. She grinned impishly at him and sat upright.

"Was I sleeping long?"

"No," he said, "but snoring worse than Porthos!" he laughed.

She laughed too and went to strike him with a cushion. She gasped as her elbow stung once again, but regretted it immediately seeing the concern steal the laughter from Aramis' eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, "It is almost recovered. I have nearly my full range of motion back. It only hurts when it's moved at odd moments, and much less so than it did," she admitted. He looked at her sceptically, and took her hands in his. His thumb gently stroked her fingers, resting slightly on the gold band with the red stone, her symbol of their marriage. He felt the sigil, the three stars of their family as it hung near his heart.

Her grey eyes caught his brown ones and she frowned slightly. "I'm alright," she said again, kissing him softly.

"I know," he said, brushing her hair behind her ear, "But you very nearly weren't."

She sighed and lowered her eyes for a moment before returning them to his gaze. "You're right," she said quietly. If he was startled by her admission he did not show it.

"I was glad to be a part of this mission and proud to stand by your side…but I will admit that a life of subterfuge is not the one for me."

He looked at her and smirked. "But you were so good at it," he said.

"Hardly," she replied. "I hated the lies and pretending to be someone else. I hated being on edge the whole time, fearing that I might do or say something that would risk injury to one of you."

"It was hard for me to see you that way, to worry about the risks you were taking and the danger you were in."

"I know. It felt so odd. Like wearing a shoe on the wrong foot or a glove on the wrong hand. I hated it," she said. "I didn't like trying to manipulate those men – it was so contrary to my nature," she said so piteously that he couldn't help but kiss her once more.

"I'd be lying if I didn't say that despite your qualms you did an excellent job. You were the strong, intelligent and fearless woman I fell in love with. I'd also be lying if I didn't tell you how relieved I am to hear you admit this."

"So," he said coyly as he drew her against him, "Does that mean you won't be becoming a Musketeer?" he kissed her neck and grinned as she laughed.

"No," she said. "I much prefer being married to one. I do so love a man in uniform."

ooooooooooooooooooooooo


	75. Weighted Scales, Ch 1

_**A/N: Welcome back dear readers! I've been in a bit of a funk lately and have tried escaping into my little AU world here. I've been struggling with what I wanted to capture here, but hopefully you all like it! As always, your notes and reviews are really appreciated! Cheers!**_

* * *

Weighted Scales

Chapter 1

It was late and the mood in the infirmary was tense.

Two of the beds were currently occupied.

Aramis stood over Athos, carefully checking the bandages wrapped around his chest. It was late, and the medic's strain was obvious. Porthos sat next to D'Artagnan and gently wiped his forehead with a damp cloth.

Porthos eyed the medic as he stood from Athos' bed, staggered slightly and winced as he straightened his shoulders.

"You should take a rest," Porthos grumbled, "We've done all we can for now."

Aramis raised an eyebrow at his friend - his eyes roving over the brawler's own bruised cheekbone and the slight cut to his brow. "I'm fine mon ami, but you should have something to eat. It's been a hard day."

Porthos frowned. "I saw that blow you took to your back. Ya can't tell me you aren't feelin' it."

Aramis smirked. "It's hard not to, but it's only bruised," he said and sighed. He ran his hand through his hair as he looked back at where Athos lay resting peacefully.

"Has Christine been told we're back?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "No, not yet. I wanted to wait until they woke." Porthos nodded and replaced the cloth on D'Artagnan's brow as he shifted in his sleep. A gentle knock on the infirmary door had both men raising their heads to greet the visitor.

Etienne entered cautiously. "The Captain has just returned from the palace. He's asked to see you." Aramis frowned slightly.

"Don't worry," said Etienne coming to stand between Athos and D'Artagnan's beds. "I'll look after them."

Aramis met the calm face of the other medic and nodded. Porthos rose and clapping Etienne on the shoulder, he followed Aramis from the Infirmary up the wooden staircase to Treville's office. With a look at Porthos, Aramis knocked twice.

"Come!" came the familiar bark from behind the closed door.

The two musketeers entered and met the aggravated gaze of their Captain. It was indeed late, and the Captain had missed dinner; his audience with the King had lasted longer than expected.

He shuffled piles of parchment on his desk. A few unopened missives fell from its surface. Angrily, he tossed the stack of parchment he had been holding onto the desk's messy surface and stooped to recover the notes that had fallen. Clearly his time with the King had worn his patience thin.

"Well?" Treville barked, "What do you have to report?"

Aramis and Porthos were startled by the Captain's aggravation. They hesitated which only seemed to frustrate him more.

"I have spent the last hours watching the King and his courtiers plan yet another ostentatious party, suggesting my men perform shooting tricks and feats of strength for their entertainment, while the people grow hungry, and war looms on our doorstep. Then I return to this garrison to find I have two musketeers in the infirmary after what was supposed to be a routine delivery of a letter and rumours of a dead nobleman's son. I need an explanation. Now," said Treville leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, his blue eyes blazing and awaiting a report.

With Athos injured, it fell to Aramis to report to the Captain. He straightened his shoulders and swallowed the groan that threatened to escape him again (though perhaps he was less successful at hiding his grimace).

"Our ride out was uneventful save for some rain," Aramis began. "We met the Comte de Gaulle and his son the Viscomte and delivered the missive. The Viscomte seemed to recognize Athos, though Athos remained calm and tried to keep to our task. The Comte himself is in failing health, though his pride and spirit are undiminished. We awaited his reply. Having received it, we left and planned to return to Paris in the morning," he said, producing the sealed note from the Comte from his doublet.

Treville took the letter and frowned, but said nothing. Aramis continued.

"We returned to our rooms at the inn. The Viscomte followed us and insisted on challenging Athos to a duel. Athos declined, but the Viscomte persisted. The match was brief, and Athos won easily. The Viscomte…was embarrassed," Aramis said, glancing at Porthos who nodded his support. Treville had moved his hand and was currently consoling the bridge of his nose with it, his eyes closed, as he listened to Aramis' report. "We set out early in the morning, but were quickly pursued. The Viscomte had summoned a dozen men to seek mollification for his wounded pride. A battle ensued. One man shot D'Artagnan's horse from under him. He hit his head in his fall. He was conscious earlier, but the ride back was difficult. He is suffering from a mild concussion."

"And Athos?" Treville asked.

"It was as the battle ended," said Porthos helpfully.

Aramis nodded. "It was over. We had defeated most of the Viscomte's henchman, the others retreating the way they came. Athos once more had defeated the Viscomte. The Viscomte was incensed, but Athos showed him mercy and turned away from him, thinking the man disarmed. He wasn't."

Porthos growled lowly at this.

"The Viscomte stabbed Athos. In the back. He had a blade, but whether hidden or recovered from the ground, I didn't see. I…was too slow to stop him before he had plunged the weapon into Athos. I shot him. He's dead," Aramis finished.

"And where were you in all of this?" Treville asked Porthos.

"I was –"

"Porthos was with D'Artagnan. He had taken a blow to the face, but was able to defend him from at least a half dozen men where he fell," said Aramis, meeting Treville's gaze with a fire in his own eyes in defense of his brother.

"Three musketeers hurt and a dead nobleman, but you seem to remain unaffected," said Treville scathingly. Aramis stiffened, but nodded.

"We didn' have a choice, Captain. The Viscomte…he wanted to kill Athos. 'Mis had to –" said Porthos, fervently.

"It doesn't matter," said Treville, "You were seen. You are known Aramis. You cannot just kill a nobleman without consequences. Things are different now!"

Aramis' eyes darkened. "I will not apologize for killing a man who was intent on killing my brother! He stabbed Athos from behind as he offered him mercy."

"Just once I wished you'd use your head instead of following your heart," said Treville.

"Should I have let the man kill Athos then? I had to remove part of the broken blade when we returned to the infirmary. As it is, Athos lost a lot of blood and it will be a few days for him to recover fully – and that's only if he doesn't develop an infection from the wound!" said Aramis defensively.

"You are reckless. How will you take care of your people as a Comte when you can't even keep yourself out of trouble?" Treville shouted.

His face flushed as he met the Spaniard's dark gaze. He knew he had gone too far as all the air was pulled suddenly from the room with his words. He knew that Aramis took his new responsibilities seriously and he was as skilled at caring for others as he was talented with a pistol.

"I have never taken a life unless it was absolutely necessary," said Aramis coldly. "Am I dismissed, Captain?" he said, a little peevishly.

"You are, my _Lord_. Return to your home. Etienne will be fine in the infirmary with the wounded. He will send word should you be needed," Treville said coolly, matching Aramis' tone.

Aramis was startled and made to protest but Treville silenced him with a curt "Dismissed."

With a silent glare, Aramis turned and marched from the office pulling the door sharply behind him, leaving Porthos with a deeply frowning Captain.

They were silent for a moment as they listened to Aramis' boots on the steps outside. Eventually Porthos looked at the Captain. He was seated at his desk, worry replacing the anger in his eyes as they lingered on the door the marksman had just stormed through.

"He didn't have a choice, Cap'n," said Porthos quietly. "You know 'Mis. He would never kill someone if there was any way around it."

Treville sighed deeply and leant forward placing his elbows on his desk, his clasped fingers supporting his brow. He raised his head so his eyes met his soldier. "I know that Porthos. I know exactly the man that Aramis is. The problem is that Aramis is no longer just a musketeer. He's the Comte now, and he has a target on his back – one that I'm not sure he's yet aware of," said Treville sadly.

Porthos tensed at the mention of the threat to his brother.

"It's all politics. Christine is a favourite of the King's, as is Aramis now. With their marriage, Aramis has suddenly been elevated to the higher circles with the eagles and they are vicious. It is dangerous, Porthos. Their competition at court will look for any opportunity to discredit the pair of them, tarnish their names or worse," said Treville. "I have no doubt the Viscomte deserved it. I have two men lying in the infirmary because of his actions, and you too are a sore sight from the encounter, but I fear for what the consequences of the altercation might be now. A nobleman is dead, and deserved or not, if he has the right connections, justice can be deaf and dumb as well as blind."

Porthos suddenly saw the age settle in on Treville. He knew that the Captain's relationship with the marksman was similar to that of a father and son, and he could tell that the Captain was regretting his words and his handling of the entire situation that had just transpired. He also knew that the man was acting from a place of protection and anxiousness on the medic's behalf – only exasperated by Aramis' own impetuousness and righteousness.

"Don't worry Captain, Aramis knows you didn't mean it. He knows you're comin' from a good place. He's worried about the others – you know how he gets. He's sore too – took a nasty blow himself. That's why he was a bit short with ya," explained Porthos.

If possible, Treville frowned even deeper. "That explains the grimace and why he was standing so stiffly…"

"Want me to go after 'im?"

"No," said Treville, "Let him cool off and rest. I will speak with him in the morning."

Porthos nodded as he turned to leave. He hesitated at the door.

"I know Athos and D'Artagnan are restin' and gonna be fine, but you shouldn't 'ave made him leave," said Porthos quietly.

Treville sighed again. "I know…I just lost my temper."

Porthos grinned. "Ya, he's got a talent for that. It's also what happens with fathers and sons. He loves you Captain. Everythin'll be fine in the mornin'. You'll see."

oOo


	76. Weighted Scales, Ch 2

Weighted Scales

Chapter 2

Aramis' temper cooled as he walked from the garrison down the darkened avenues to the rue St. Germain; the coolness of the night helped to calm him.

There was no man he respected more than Captain Treville; their relationship was a long one and because of that, the Captain knew exactly what to say to make the biggest impact on him – to really get under his skin.

As the streets passed under his feet and his frustration and anger melted away, Aramis reflected on what the Captain had been trying to say beneath the gruff and frustrated tone. He knew it was a warning, born out of concern – concern for his brothers, concern for him, and concern for his beautiful wife.

Having served as a musketeer for as long as he had, Aramis was very familiar with the workings of the court. Before Christine though, he was content to stay on the outskirts, a spectator in his duties as a musketeer – though maybe with an occasional dalliance with a beautiful noble woman here or there. Once he had wed Christine however, he became the Comte des Etoiles and with that came new responsibilities and duties at court.

He had thought the transition had been fairly easy and his attendance had so far only been minimal, but he couldn't help but notice – when he was in attendance or on guard duty – that the sharp tongues of some of the courtiers were well-honed. He didn't mind it for himself – he had been called worse before – but Christine had already been made a target once for loving him, a common man, and some of that discrimination still resided at court. On top of that, Christine was a member of one of the oldest families in France. Though their estate outside of the city was not overly large, they were wealthy and it was prized, and her favoured position at court was coveted.

Aramis quietly climbed the stairs up to his and Christine's library that adjoined their bedroom, mulling over Treville's words. He removed his sash and weapons belt and gasped slightly as he removed his long doublet, hanging it on the back of a chair. He pulled the braces from his shoulders so they hung at his hips and carefully tried rolling his shoulders, but stopped quickly, his back roaring its protest.

She floated to him from their bedroom, a vision draped in the soft folds of her nightgown. She kissed him and he responded in kind, wincing as he brought his arms up to encircle her.

Her grey eyes clouded over. "Are you alright? You're late returning from your mission," she said as she ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him softly.

"I'm fine. We had some trouble on our return journey…Athos was stabbed and D'Artagnan had a bad fall from his horse, but they are both in the infirmary recovering," he said, allowing her to lead him to the couch.

"I'm surprised that you're here then," she said. She frowned as she saw him tense and began to gently massaging the sore muscles of his shoulders.. "I'm grateful that you are, but usually if one of the others is hurt –"

"Treville dismissed me or rather he dismissed the Comte. I killed the Viscomte that stabbed Athos, and Treville scolded me and sent me home, saying he'd summon me if I was needed," Aramis said bitterly.

Christine stilled at these words.

"Treville doesn't think I understand the position I'm in now that I'm a Comte, but what was I to do? Let the man stab Athos again? I had no choice and I don't regret my actions. I acted in defence of my brothers, as I would have before. I did what any of them would have done in my place," he said, his temper beginning to rise once more.

"Do you regret marrying me?" Christine asked quietly, halting his rant.

"What? No! Never!" he said taking her face in his hands. He gazed into her troubled eyes and kissed her. "What would ever make you think that?" he said gently, the anger gone from him in an instant. "Marrying you was the best thing to have ever happened to me."

She smiled softly as he kissed her again. "You seem to be more upset about being a Comte than anything…" she said. He sighed deeply, and she began to work his sore shoulders again.

"No, my love. I resent the politics of the court. I resent that something I am proud of and I treasure, being the Comte and your husband, is used as a weapon by some people for political gain. I resent that my role as a musketeer has somehow made you a target once again."

"And you're concerned about Athos and D'Artagnan," she said softly.

"Yes," he said. "I know they will both be fine and that Etienne and Porthos are with them, but I regret I wasn't able to stop them from being injured in the first place."

"I'm sure you did all that you could," she whispered and she settled into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and she kissed him. His shoulders had begun to feel better, or maybe it was only her love that banished the hurts from his body and any other cares from his mind.

"Te amo, mi tesora. Being able to call myself your husband is the title I truly value. Far above Comte or Musketeer," he said. She kissed him passionately and his other pains were temporarily forgotten as she led him into their bedroom.

oOo

The Comte and Comtesse arrived promptly for duty at the garrison the next morning, she in one of the simple dresses she wore in the infirmary and he in his sash, doublet and pauldron. They greeted Athos and D'Artagnan in the infirmary and joined them and Porthos for breakfast. D'Artagnan was still queasy, but managed a few small spoonfuls of porridge. Christine fussed a little over all of them.

"Where is Treville?" Aramis asked cautiously.

Porthos and Athos shared a quick glance that was not missed by the others who knew them best.

"He posted the duties this mornin' without callin' muster and returned to his quarters. Whatever the King has planned has kept him busy," said Porthos.

"That and perhaps some other things," said Athos pointedly.

Christine frowned at Athos, but Aramis only sighed. "I shall speak to him later."

"Good," said Athos. "You and Porthos have been assigned to assist the cadets with their sparring. I should like to watch to see how much work I will have to correct later."

Aramis smirked. "Three days. Without infection."

"Two, and today counts as the first," said Athos rising gingerly. Aramis shook his head and led Athos outside to the practice ring. Christine, Porthos and D'Artagnan followed.

They whiled away the morning watching Porthos and Aramis instruct the cadets in ways to improve their swordplay.

They had just dismissed the cadets, many of whom continued to loiter around the water pitchers or go a few more rounds in practise. It was hot and the water was much appreciated.

As a sweating Porthos and Aramis turned to join the others in the shade at their familiar table, a ruckus was heard at the garrison's gates. At least a dozen Red Guards entered looking violent. Aramis and Porthos detoured from their path and went to meet the intruders. Athos rose from his seat at the table to join them; Christine kept D'Artagnan seated.

"You, gentlemen, seem t'have lost your way," Porthos said menacingly.

"Quiet dog," spat the Captain of the Red Guards.

Aramis and Athos both drew their blades at this comment, despite Athos' bandages.

"I suggest you deliver your message quickly to buy yourself as much time to run as possible," Athos snapped.

The Captain grinned vilely as he looked at Aramis.

"Very well," he sneered, "Aramis, Comte des Etoiles and musketeer pig, you, are hereby under arrest. Resisting arrest will be seen as culpability of your guilt, a violation of duty and considered treason to the crown," he said and gestured his men forward. Three men seized Aramis and pushed him to the ground, some of the others drew their pistols and aimed them at Athos and Porthos.

At the Red Guard Captain's words, Christine leapt to her feet, D'Artagnan on her heels.

"What is the meaning of this? Unhand my husband!" she demanded.

"Your husband is a murderer, my _lady,_ " the man sneered, leering at her plain gown – a far cry from the rich garments she wore while at court. "How far your family name has fallen…"

"This is ridiculous," said Athos. "How dare you make such false accusations!"

One of the men holding Aramis began trying to tie his hands, but Aramis struggled against it.

"You should at least tell me who I'm being accused of murdering!" he shouted. Another guard punched him suddenly in the stomach so he pitched forward and stopped resisting the bindings. They pulled him roughly to his feet as he struggled to regain the breath stolen from him.

Outrage arose from the musketeers and the others who had gathered to witness the commotion. A gag was forced into Aramis' mouth roughly. More men stepped forward to sedate a livid Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan.

The Red Guard Captain fired a pistol into the air and quickly pointed his other at Christine.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" came Treville's shout across the courtyard.

"The _Comte_ is under arrest for the murder of the Viscomte de Gaulle," sneered the Captain, passing Treville the warrant. "He is to be held as a prisoner to await his trial."

Aramis' eyes widened at the announcement, but bound and gagged he could do nothing but stare into the eyes of Christine where she was still held at gunpoint. She stared back at him bravely.

"Lower your weapons," Treville demanded. "These accusations are preposterous!"

"Preposterous or not, no man is above the law no matter whose bed he has climbed into," spat the Captain. All the musketeers reacted to the slur; Aramis was struck once again by his captors as he fought to get at the crude captain. Treville stepped between the Captain and Christine and grabbed the man by the collar.

"This is the King's Garrison and you will lower your weapon and apologize immediately to the Comtesse," Treville roared quelling the brawl that seemed certain to erupt.

"Of course," sneered the man, holstering his pistol. "The prisoner will be held captive in the Bastille until trial."

"We are owed a full list of the evidence and the charges laid against him, and I should be allowed to accompany him to ensure he is treated in accordance to his position," Christine demanded.

"Of course, my lady, whatever you desire," he said.

"Athos, go with them. I must go to the King," said Treville. "The rest of you," he said looking back at the gawking cadets, "Back to your duties! Porthos, D'Artagnan, with me!"

With that, the Red Guards turned and marched Aramis from the garrison, Christine and Athos with them. Athos took Christine's arm securely in his to hide her trembling.

Treville watched them leave. His premonition and great fear looked as though they were coming true. Turning to face Porthos and D'Artagnan he asked, "Are you fit to ride?"

With affirmative nods from both men, he continued. "I need you to ride back out to where you were attacked. I need you to find us any evidence possible to help clear Aramis' name – witnesses, the blade the Viscomte used to stab Athos, anything."

Porthos nodded. "What are you gonna do?"

"I am going to the King to beg for a fair trial. Let's pray he is in a reasonable mood," he said and with that he stormed off to the stables where his horse was waiting.

oOo


	77. Weighted Scales, Ch 3

_**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's still reading and reviewing this! It's always a nice escape from the soul-sucking of my day job and your continuing words brighten my day! Cheers!**_

* * *

Weighted Scales

Chapter 3

It was the next day and Christine, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan had gathered in Treville's office.

The news was grim. Aramis had been thrown in a cell in the Bastille, which, while better than the Chatelet, was still a prison, filthy and bare. Once in the cell, Christine was only permitted a few moments with her husband. She tore her skirt, wetting the material in the small cup of water and delicately wrapped his wrists where the harsh bindings had aggravated the skin.

They were both quiet as the insanity of the situation sunk in. He held her, and kissed her and told her not to worry. He told her he loved her and she said she loved him back. She would find a way to get him cleared of these charges. She kissed him again as the guards arrived and forced her roughly from the cell. Aramis protested, and a guard responded with two sharp blows with his baton.

"Aramis!" she cried as she was thrown into Athos' arms and the door was slammed shut. His hoarse coughing could be heard from the other side.

"If he is harmed in any way, you will suffer dearly," Athos promised as he led Chistine out of the prison and back to the garrison where they awaited the return of Treville and the others.

"The King is insistent that the trial move forward," Treville announced grimly. "He says he can't be seen to be playing favourites. The Comte is mad with his grief. His Majesty says his hands are tied."

"But he must see how ludicrous this is!" cried Christine. "Aramis was acting on his orders in defence of his musketeers!"

Treville sighed. "It appears that there is a witness that vows that Aramis shot the Viscomte in cold blood."

Porthos growled, "One of the fleein' henchmen, I'm guessin'. Wonder how much he's gettin' to swear by such lies."

"It doesn't matter," said Treville. "We will need to prove that the Viscomte was the guilty party and that Aramis was only fulfilling his duty."

"What's wrong?" Athos asked reading the deeper anxiety within his Captain.

"The Comte has a lot of influence at court. He has provided the crown with major contributions to its coffers. I worry about that pressure on his Majesty. He is fond of Aramis, but others are envious of his quick rise to grace and of Christine's influence and position at court…"

Christine shook her head. "I know Louis. His Majesty will not suffer injustice."

"No," said Treville, "But if by the grace of God Aramis is not sentenced to death, what if the Comte insists on making an example of him? There are many ways to kill a man that aren't through formal execution. He could be whipped, stripped of his title, his duty…You could be forced to divorce, or give up your title. He could be locked away for the rest of his life, and God knows what accidents could befall him in that cell…"

Christine stifled a sob and Porthos reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Athos' eyes seemed to catch fire in the face of the injustice to his brother and the anguish of his friend. "We've been told the plaintiff will call forward witnesses. The Comte will testify as will his Valet, and whomever witnessed the attack."

"We were able to convince the local farrier to testify that it was the Viscomte who pursued us to the inn. The innkeeper would not testify," said D'Artagnan.

"He's scared," Porthos grumbled. "The Comte is his landlord. He's not willin' t'risk his business."

"Any luck with the blade?" Treville asked.

"No," D'Artagnan said. "We scoured the area, but it had been combed clean."

"The blade was expensive. It was unusually thin, but with precious stones inlaid in the handle along with the family crest – a stag and crow," Athos said. "Aramis removed part of the blade that had broken off when we returned to the infirmary. The surgery was too delicate for the field."

"Etienne kept the shard. If we can find the blade, we can prove the Viscomte struck first and Aramis was only acting in defence of his brother and in accordance with his duty," said D'Artagnan hopefully.

"Let's hope the trial lasts long enough to allow us to provide this evidence," said Treville.

"Porthos," said Athos, "Reach out to your contacts on the streets – any pickpockets or pawn brokers. Give them a description of the blade we're looking for."

"There will be a reward for their efforts if the blade is found," promised Christine.

"Christine," Treville began hesitantly, "You should refrain from court until the trial begins. They will attack you and attack Aramis saying that you are using your position to get away with murder. The King's judgement will need to appear impartial…and final."

Christine drew in a shaky breath and nodded, but Treville was not fooled. She might be able to abstain from court until the trial was underway, but he could tell by the fire in her eyes that she would let no harm come to her husband. Treville hoped that when he saw the matching gleam in the eyes of his men, that justice would be on their side and Aramis would be cleared of any wrongdoing, without having to compromise the Comtesse and the other musketeers.

oOo

She couldn't stop shaking. Her skin was frozen to the touch despite the warmth outside.

Christine sat in front of the fireplace in their library. The trial was expected to begin the next day. She knew there was no real case against Aramis – his long history with the musketeers was more than a testament to the kind of man he was. The King was a rational man when he wanted to be. And yet…and yet…

And yet she knew the darkness of court. She knew what others might do to discredit their family. She knew how some could see her family's downfall as a political opportunity – those who would not think twice about the lives that would pay the price for their advancement.

His life. Aramis' life.

And in that same moment, her life.

Could she go on without him? She didn't think so. It would be impossible. God would strike her down and still her heart with the final breath he took.

But it would not come to that. It could not. She would not allow it!

She did not know this Comte de Gaulle, nor his son, but she was certain that once his grief had passed he would admit that Aramis had no other action open to him. He had to defend his brother!

At least she hoped…

She hoped and she prayed and she worried.

And she cried. She cried only when she was alone.

Only their bedroom would witness her true anguish. She couldn't show Athos or Treville the enormity of her fears.

She would stand behind Aramis at court, upright and proud, knowing the man she married, certain of his innocence of these conflated charges. She would give him strength and would banish any doubts from the King with her faith in the man she loved.

Tomorrow she would be strong, but tonight she cried.

oOo

Aramis paced in his cell.

This wasn't the first time he had been held against his will. He had been placed in a cell suited to his new title, which, he noted, was larger than the homes of some of the poorer people of Paris. He had a bed – a wooden pallet and a threadbare blanket – next to a small table, a single chair, a pitcher of water and a candle. The cell even had, of all luxuries, a window. All in all, it was the best cell he'd ever been kept in, but he was at by far his lowest point.

All that he could think about were her eyes when she was forced to leave him in that cell. He knew she would be strong, but as they forced her out and struck him to his knees, in that instant her horror and fear were revealed.

Aramis had been held captive or had been taken prisoner before. He had been whipped, beaten, even tortured in service to the crown as a musketeer, but this time things were different.

This time he was on trial for fulfilling his duty to the crown – for protecting another musketeer in order to complete their mission.

He had always felt that when it was his time to go, it would likely be in battle. That God would one day call him to judgement and the scales of his deeds would be weighed. He could not be certain of His judgement, but he had lived his life in the hopes that the good he did in the world would outweigh the bad. His moral compass always led north, even if the path was not always straight and narrow – but that, after all, was what made him human: the desire to do good and live rightly.

Now though, Aramis was not ready to meet his maker. He was unprepared to die for this fallacious charge. Not having found a purpose. Not having found his brothers. Not having only been married to the love of his life for such a short few months.

He thought of her eyes, the fear that was so foreign in their cosmic depths, and he paced.

He could hear footsteps approaching and the sudden creak of the bolts in the heavy oak door and he turned to face his visitors – his guards had delivered another beating with his daily rations. He may have been in a luxurious jail cell, but his jailers were no more refined.

The door was forced open and in walked Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan. He smiled as they each embraced him before taking a seat at his pallet.

"Glad to see that they're at least treating you well," Athos deadpanned, his eyes roving over his brother's dishevelled appearance.

"The service is terrible, but the room affords an excellent view of the gallows," Aramis replied.

"Seriously Aramis, are they treatin' you alright?" Porthos asked earnestly.

"Fine, I'm fine mon ami. How is Christine?"

The three exchanged glances before D'Artagnan responded. "Worried," he answered truthfully. "Marie has been trying to get her to eat but…"

Aramis nodded knowingly.

"You're going to be proved innocent," said the Gascon fervently. "The charge is ludicrous. You were only doing your duty!"

Aramis sighed and smiled softly at his younger brother. "If this had occurred before, I don't know that this would have escalated the way it did, but now that I am a comte, my death and dishonour carries more weight to it," he said bitterly.

"This farce will be all for politics. It's an attempt to discredit you within the court and in the eyes of the King. Even if the King is just and dismisses this sham at its outset, the damage may have already been done," said Athos gravely.

Aramis coughed out a mirthless chuckle and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't even know what's worse. If they execute me –"

"Don' even say that! Don' even think it!" growled Porthos. "You're gonna be proven innocent. And if not, we'll appeal it. The Captain will pop his top. I'll tear this place down brick by brick –"

"And we'll help!" insisted D'Artagnan.

Athos smiled wryly. "Do you really think your wife would let an injustice like this pass quietly? She'd join us in laying siege to the Bastille before she'd let them hurt you."

Aramis smiled and gave a soft appreciative laugh. He pulled his medallion from next to his heart and brought it to his lips – the three starred symbol of Christine's house, of his house.

A pounding on the door symbolized the end of the visit. The musketeers embraced once again.

"The key is to stay calm and rational. Control your passion no matter how they may try to bait you," said Athos.

"Can we bring you anything?" D'Artagnan asked, glancing at the thin and dirtied shirt that Aramis was wearing. He hadn't been afforded a chance to change from the clothes he had been wearing to instruct the cadets. "They should at least allow you your doublet and pauldron."

Athos shook his head. "They will want to dishonour you as much as possible – take away as much semblance of the romantic hero that you usually present," said Athos.

Aramis honoured them with a rakish grin. "Then they'll have to lead me in with a sack over my head."

"Or they could jus' break yer nose," said Porthos, hugging Aramis again. The door opened and the guards entered.

"Take care of Christine…tell her…tell her…" said Aramis desperately.

"She knows," said Porthos, "And you'll be able to tell her yerself when you get outta here."

The guard cleared his throat agitatedly.

Aramis shook his head and grabbing Porthos and Athos desperately by the arm. "If this doesn't go well…if somehow…if…promise me…"

"On our lives Aramis. On our lives," said Athos, pressing a small bundle into his hand.

"Out! Now!" rumbled the guard.

"All for one, Aramis," said D'Artagnan as they were forced from the cell.

"And one for all," said Aramis as he retook his seat on the pallet and the door clanged shut, bolts creaking back into place.

Wrapped in a white handkerchief with the three stars of his house sewn into it, were his rosary beads and a short thin blade. "For protection" was written in his wife's delicate hand. He lay down on the pallet, held the cloth to his nose, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He fell asleep picturing her smiling eyes, smelling the scent of her hair on the cloth – mint and lavender – and prayed he would have no use for the blade.

oOo


	78. Weighted Scales, Ch 4

_**A/N: Thanks to everyone for your patience! i just woke up from the food coma I've been in since Canadian Thanksgiving. I am thankful for the amazing and continuing support I have found on this site and for the great outlet for my creativity. I'm thankful for every PM and review i receive, and I'm thankful for you readers and this magical community. Cheers!**_

* * *

Weighted Scales

Chapter 4

The courthouse was filled with courtiers. Louis would be presiding over the proceedings and his decision would be final. Christine stood to one side of the room with Captain Treville, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan. A murmur arose as the doors opened and the prisoner was dragged into the courtroom.

Christine gasped. She felt Porthos tense next to her as they took in Aramis' appearance.

Heavy manacles had been fastened tightly to his wrists and ankles. His shirt, already dirty when he was thrown into prison clung to him. There was a suspiciously dark patch on his side that hinted at a wound beneath it, and the dark circles under his eyes gave some indication as to his treatment by his jailors.

Christine made to protest, to push forward and ensure he was alright, but Athos' grip on her elbow had her hold her place.

Louis' eyes were narrowed as Aramis was pulled to the stand. The Queen lifted her hand to her mouth in surprise, her eyes immediately finding Christine's.

"Aramis, I hardly recognized you," said the King quizzically.

"Forgive me, your majesties, I was not allowed to make myself presentable for your audience," he said bemusedly.

"Yes," said the King sadly, "Perhaps we should just get to the matter at hand…"

"Indeed sire," said an older man, stepping forward from the opposite side of the hall. "I am owed retribution for the life taken from me. Justice must be served," he said.

The Comte de Gaulle was once a tall and bullish man, but was now stumped prematurely with sickness. His dark hair was streaked through with grey and was pulled back at the nape of his neck. His pale skin was powdery and hung oddly at his cheekbones adding to his aged appearance; the Comte had been a robust man in his prime, but his sunken features resembled those of a partially melted waxen figure, and his hanging jowls shook as he coughed into a silk handkerchief. Though barely older than Captain Treville, illness had stolen the man's strength and he leant heavily on a cane with a golden handle that shook in his knobbled hand when it was not supporting his weight. He leered at Aramis and for a fraction of a moment, Christine felt pity for the man, thinking how greatly the loss of his son must have affected him.

The King stood solemnly on his dais and addressed the court.

"We are gathered here to examine a grievous accusation. The Comte de Gaulle has brought a charge of murder against the Comte des Etoiles. You all are asked here to bear witness to the proceedings. The Comte de Gaulle will bring forth his accusation and condemning evidence before the Comte des Etoiles will bring forward his arguments. It will then fall to me to be the judge of these matters and mete out the appropriate punishment," said the King.

"Punishment? That sounds as though the decision's already made!" whispered D'Artagnan. Treville and Athos frowned deeply.

"Shall we begin?" asked the King, retaking his seat upon the dais.

"We shall indeed. Thank you Your Majesty. I call my first witness," said the Comte De Gaulle as a mousy looking man with lank grey hair stepped forward at his master's command.

"State your name and position for the record," said the King.

"Jerome Savard, your Majesty, Sire. I'm the senior valet at the estate of the Comte de Gaulle," wheezed the man.

"Tell us Jerome, do you recognized the man before you?" asked the Comte.

"Yes," said the valet. "He was among the group of musketeers that delivered a missive from his majesty."

"And can you describe the countenance of these musketeers upon their delivery?"

Treville's eyes narrowed.

The valet squirmed. "Well, at first sir, as you know, I was loathe to admit them, sir,"

The King looked surprised. "Why ever not?"

"They were soaked through, your Majesty, having come from the road. I did not think their appearance appropriate for my masters' presence and I didn't want them traipsing dirt and water across the grand foyer," he explained and the King and his courtiers chuckled.

"It's good to see that your staff takes pride in their work, my dear Comte," said the King amusedly.

The Comte de Gaulle nodded slightly. "How did the men react to being asked to wait outside?" he asked refocusing the attention of the room.

"They were not pleased my Lord. They remained in the antechamber. Then my Lord, your son, the Viscomte came to the foyer and demanded to know why they were dripping in his hall. The other one," he said, gesturing with his head towards Athos, "said that he would only surrender his notice to you, my Lord."

"And how would you describe the Musketeers' countenance?"

The man bit his lip a bit before answering slowly. It was as though he were trying to recall something, his eyes flickering between his master and the King. "I'd say they were…arrogant, my lord?"

"Arrogant?" said the Comte in mock surprise. "Would you call them aggressive even?"

The man hesitated; the Comte narrowed his eyes prompting the valet to reply. "Oh! Yes! Yes, aggressive. Arrogant and aggressive, my lord."

"There you have it," said the Comte, "These musketeers arrived harbouring ill-will towards my son, no doubt aware of his formidable reputation with a blade. They intentionally acted to insult him and my household."

"I object, your Majesty," said Treville. "What does this have to do with the charges laid against my man? How has Aramis wronged in this circumstance? If anything sire, your musketeers were cold and wet, having ridden without stop to fulfil their duty, and upon arrival were not shown the kind of respect appropriate for representatives of your Majesty."

"That is true Treville. What do you say to that, de Gaulle?"

"As you said, your Majesty, my staff takes pride in their work. Had I not been overcome by sickness at their arrival, I would have happily welcomed your envoys. As it was, my son, overwhelmed by grief at my ailment, was then all but insulted within his home. This just shows the heartlessness and disregard that your men afforded my poor son," said the Comte passionately. He made a bit of a show of coughing into his handkerchief before painfully straightening his back and standing straighter before the King, eliciting sympathetic glances from many of the people gathered.

"Perhaps it would be best if you called your next witness?" suggested the Queen.

Aramis stood still in his spot, listening to the testimony of the valet. He hadn't yet said anything inflammatory, but something in the pit of Aramis' stomach made him feel as though the cards were stacked against him.

The next man who took the stand had a scheming sinister look to him. There was no doubt that he had been one of the Viscomte's henchmen who had assailed the musketeers on their return journey.

"I saw these musketeers battlin' a group not far from the city," he said. "There was bodies everywhere. Brutal it was. Musta been five – no, ten men lying dead and bleedin' in the road. Cruel they was. Merciless. Dishonourable if you was to ask me."

Porthos growled out a protest and D'Artagnan shifted in anger but a glare from Treville and both men freeze. Aramis followed the King's gaze where it shifted from his angry brothers to the now sweating man on the stand. The look was difficult to read, but the slight frown on Louis' face hinted at disappointment.

"Tell us what you saw," commanded the Comte.

A slight sneer came to the man's face as his eyes flickered towards Aramis and the musketeers. "I saw your son, my Lord. I seen him fight the other one. The man fought dirty and somehow knocked your son to the ground. 'You're the King's musketeers. I don't know how I wronged you, but have mercy. I must tend to my sick father' he says with his hands up," said the man. "That's when this one – the Spanish lookin' one – he laughs, see – laughs and says "I'm a Comte and a favourite of the King. Louis lets me do as I please.' 'But the King is merciful,' says your son, then the Spanish one says again, 'The King's a fool,' and shoots the Viscomte in cold blood."

Outrage erupted as the man concluded his tale, several loud voices shouting at once – the Comte and several courtiers expressing their outrage with Treville, Aramis and the others expressing theirs.

"Order! Order!" cried Louis, rising from his dais. "I shall have order in my court!"

"Please sire, this man is lying," said Aramis, gesturing to the other man with his bound hands.

"How can we expect to take the word of a murderer?" spat the Comte.

"Silence, all of you!" shouted the King, and glaring at the gathered court. "I shall need time to consider what has been said so far before I hear the defendant present his evidence," said the King. He made as though to leave the dais when Christine pushed herself forward and sank into a deep curtsey at his feet.

"Please sire," she begged, looking furtively into his eyes. "I trust you to be a just man, your Majesty, so I beg you to consider the following as you review this man's testimony. Why was this man at the scene? He was a brigand, part of the troop that attacked your musketeers. If he was close enough to hear these lies he is claiming were said, then why did he not aid the Viscomte? If the musketeers were so merciless, how is it that he doesn't have a scratch on him? If he fled when the musketeers proved their superiority, it would have been impossible for him to hear any exchange between Aramis and the Viscomte. He lies, Sire."

"How dare you," snarled the Comte de Gaulle. "Since when did we allow women to speak freely at court? She makes a mockery of these whole proceedings."

The King frowned at her and she felt herself grow pale. A traitorous tear sprang to her eyes. "I only ask that the King consider the situation rationally. You know the calibre of your musketeers and the unwavering loyalty of my husband. Why would he say such things? It's all lies," she pleaded.

"He's a murderer and a Spanish spy my lord. How else can you explain his disregard for French nobility and his sudden rise through society?" cried the Comte brandishing his golden cane, the sheath of his dagger rattling against it. "He has seduced the Comtesse so she too is now a party to his intrigue. He may try to kill you too, Sire!" The court erupted again in shouts and boos and jeers, but whether in support or against these salacious comments, it was impossible to determine.

"Silence!" screamed Louis, throwing down his golden goblet with a great clang. The courtroom froze as Louis panted his outrage and gained control once more. "I will consider everything that was said here. Everything. Aramis, you will have your turn to defend yourself tomorrow. Guards, take him," Louis said, and without a backwards glance he strode from the courtroom.

As the King left, the court broke out into a tumult again as the guards forced Aramis past Christine and back to his cell.

She stood temporarily in shock and the crowd swarmed around her.

"With me," murmured Athos as he stood at her side, his recovering shoulder between them. Treville stood before them as Porthos and D'Artagnan helped to force a way through the excited crowd.

oOo


	79. Weighted Scales, Ch 5

Weighted Scales

Chapter 5

"You must let me see him," Christine demanded of the guard outside of Aramis' locked door.

"Only official visitors permitted," sneered the man tauntingly.

"I am the captain of the King's Musketeers, and this is my lieutenant. One of my men held prisoner IS my official business," snarled Treville, causing the man to shrink slightly.

"Alright," he said, "But she'll wait outside," said the guard.

"She is my official garrison medic. Her duty requires her to tend injured musketeers," said Treville sharply, "And if this prisoner shows up at court tomorrow with any further injuries to the ones we leave him with tonight, I will see to it that you personally have an 'official' introduction to the gallows."

The man quailed under the intense gaze of the Captain and the cold silent fury emanating from Athos. He shuffled backwards and opened the door.

When they entered the cell Aramis was seated on his pallet with his head between his knees. He was pale and drawn and breathing deeply. Clearly his time on the stand had taxed him as he hid whatever unseen ailment had been inflicted upon him by his guards. He shifted to sit upright as Treville, Christine and Athos entered, but he couldn't stop the soft and low moan that slipped from his lips. in this vulnerable state he looked worse than when he had appeared before the King.

"Aramis, let me help you," Christine breathed as she flew to his side followed by Athos. Together they helped to lift him to the chair and his breathing eased slightly. Carefully, she pulled the shirt over his head and gasped at the dark purple bruise at his side. The skin was torn, but had stopped bleeding some time ago. From where he stood, Treville could also see the dark bruising that ran across his back – the result of the previous skirmish with the Viscomte and his men.

Christine examined the damage to her husband, and fighting the urge to cry, she quickly cupped his face and kissed him.

"Don't worry. I'm going to take care of you. Is there anything here to tend to your wounds with?" she whispered to him.

"No," said Aramis, "But don't worry –"

"Aramis, if you say you're fine, I'll beat you with my bare hands," threatened Athos.

Aramis smirked, "That will just further injure your shoulder and delay your return to duty."

"I'll risk it," deadpanned Athos, passing Aramis his cup of water.

Treville turned suddenly and stormed from the room, startling all of them.

Aramis frowned as the door clanged shut behind him.

"I need to try to clean this Aramis. You know that there's a chance of infection. Will you tell me where else they hurt you?" Christine asked gently, slipping into her medic mode.

"It's mostly just my side. It appears they may have bruised a rib, but I don't think it's broken. They cut isn't deep," he admitted.

Christine nodded and reached into the pocket of her skirt. "I brought some arnica for your back and some willow bark in the hopes that I would be permitted to see you. I'm glad that I did," she said. "I'll need to soak the scab on your side in order to clean it properly," she said.

"Here," said Athos, pulling his scarf from his neck. He poured some water from the pitcher over it and handed it to Christine who gently pressed it against the torn flesh of Aramis' side.

The trio was silent for a moment as they sat in the bleakness of the cell.

"So," said Aramis eventually, "Today was exciting…"

"The two testimonies were ridiculous. Christine brought up very good points before the chaos broke loose. The King cannot ignore them," said Athos sternly.

Aramis sighed. "I'm not sure. It's apparent that the King is conflicted. I don't believe he believes me guilty of murder, but he is nervous about further upsetting the Comte."

"That is not enough of a cause to execute you," Athos insisted.

"Isn't it? You know this world better than I do. Which is the easier route for his majesty? The Viscomte is dead. I killed him," said Aramis.

"Yes, but it was not murder!" Christine said fervently, locking Aramis with her eyes. He smiled softly at her and raised his hand to cradle her face.

"You will be allowed to defend yourself tomorrow. The King will be just Aramis," Athos insisted again.

Aramis said nothing, but groaned slightly as Christine removed the damp scarf to examine the wound.

The door opened again and Treville entered carrying a small basket.

"Here," he said placing the basket on the table.

"Captain, how?" Christine asked as she pulled clean bandages and a bottle of spirits from within.

"It wasn't me," said Treville, "I was on my way to demand these items when a member of the Queen's staff intercepted me."

"God bless her," gushed Christine as she carefully began to tend to the wound on Aramis' side. He hissed as the spirits were poured over the injury. Christine applied some of her arnica salve to Aramis' ribs before covering the wound and binding his side tightly. She then began to work some of the salve into the still bruised muscles of Aramis' back. He let out a slight sigh of relief while Treville and Athos watched as she worked.

"You should eat something," Athos said, and passed Aramis the fresh bread and cheese the Queen also provided.

Dutifully, Aramis ate a small portion, but it was clear he was fading.

Christine frowned. "There is no fire for me to heat this water for tea, but if you chew on some of this willow bark, it may help relieve you of some pain in order to let you rest," she said, her eyes round and soft as she gently brushed his hair from his face again.

He nodded and allowed himself to be led back to his pallet where he lay down gingerly. Christine covered his bare chest with the thin blanket – luckily it was quite warm out, so the threadbare sheet was enough to bring some comfort. A sudden pounding on the door indicated that their time was up. Christine lifted the soiled shirt as if to fold it.

"Leave it," said Treville, pulling a fresh shirt from the Queen's basket. "It's clear that her Majesty, at any rate, knows you to be innocent."

"God bless her," Christine repeated. "I have no doubt that Anne will help to convince Louis that you should be exonerated."

"But the Queen is not the King," Aramis said sadly.

The door was wrenched open and the guard stormed into the room and demanded they leave.

Aramis kissed Christine deeply, his fingers curling through their hair. Was it possible that this would be the last time that they would embrace, the last time that their lips might meet?

"I love you," said Christine fervently. "I will always love you. We will get through this," she said, and she kissed him fiercely once more as the guard shouted his outrage.

"I love you," she repeated as she rose to exit.

"And I will love you forever," he said and he kissed the inside of her wrist as she was forced to exit with Athos.

"One minute," insisted Treville as the jailer glared at him.

"You're pushing your luck and my patience Treville. The King will be told," he said.

"So be it," said Treville, as the jailer stood just on the outside of the cell door.

Treville looked sadly at Aramis on his pallet, his blue eyes taking in the pained and exhausted expression of the marksman. Aramis' dark eyes burned brightly back at him.

"You should have told me you were also injured in the battle with the Viscomte," Treville said awkwardly.

"It doesn't matter now," said Aramis. "Captain, I –"

"Aramis, I –"

The two men looked at each other.

"Captain, I'm sorry. You were right. If this doesn't go well…If tomorrow goes against me, promise me Captain. Promise me that you will look after them…and yourself," Aramis said softly.

Treville shook his head. "No, you were right. Your actions were true and honourable. I will not allow you to be punished for following orders and completing your duty. You acted as I would have expected from any of my musketeers. I am proud of you, son. I swear to you Aramis, we will get you through this." His blue eyes were on fire as they pinned Aramis where he lay and filled the marksman with a confidence and hope that had been dwindling.

He locked eyes with his Captain.

"All for one, and one for all, Aramis," said Treville.

Aramis nodded. His brown eyes were relit with their usual gleam as though eager to defy the odds.

Treville turned from the marksman and left the cell. He would keep his promise. He would defend his man until the end. The King would see reason. He would find a way to get Aramis out of this…

oOo

Aramis slept horribly.

He dreamt that he was in the courtroom, sitting atop a set of scales. As he sat there, bodies began to appear on the scale opposite him – countless villains and soldiers of war, but friends and family as well – his mother, Adam, twenty dead musketeers, Marsac…and eventually Athos, Porthos, D'Artagnan and the Captain.

As the bodies began to accumulate, sudden bindings lashed him to the scales. He tried to fight and he begged, trying to explain himself to a pair of dark eyes that watched in judgement, but it was no use. The eyes only sadly stared at him before shifting into the blue-grey eyes he adored the most, as the bindings grew tighter.

He awoke suddenly with a gasp as his bruised back and side flared with pain. He fought to draw in air and breathe through his panic and pain.

The breaking of the dawn had started to filter in through the window and he was drenched in a cold sweat. Shakily he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned over his knees as his breathing regulated. He ran a hand across his brow and through his hair.

He could not shake the feeling of his nightmare where the lives he had taken were added to the lives he had loved and lost and he was left staring into those fearful, sorrowful eyes – Christine's eyes, full of pain and misery and terrified.

He drank a cup of water, his hand shaking slightly as he lowered it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her handkerchief and inhaled the scent of her once more.

This couldn't be it. He could not bear to see those eyes filled with that fear or hurt. He couldn't give up and abandon his wife and their family – his brothers and the captain.

Then, as the dawn light filled his cell, he knelt on the floor next to his pallet and pulled his rosary beads from his pocket. Clasping them in his hand that still held the handkerchief, he began to pray.

oOo


	80. Weighted Scales, Ch 6

Weighted Scales

Chapter 6

Porthos and D'Artagnan stood behind the decrepit looking inn as the night wore on. D'Artagnan struggled to maintain his patience.

The duo had followed one of Porthos' leads, which brought them to one of the poorer areas of Paris. The patrons of this establishment went to and from surreptitiously. The working girls on the street corner were more overt. The plied their trade and puckered their lips as they saw D'Artagnan and Porthos approach but quickly focused their attention elsewhere at the musketeers' grim countenance. Clearly they weren't looking for company.

"How much longer?" D'Artagnan muttered as he glanced up and down the alley they were waiting in by the kitchen's exit. He kicked an apple core that had been discarded and it bounced across the cobblestones. A rodent skittered away from the commotion.

Porthos didn't respond. His face had been grim and set since the trial began and Aramis was dragged blood stained into the court. Porthos knew that the dried blood had been a new addition to Aramis' costume and the tone of the testimonies that morning and the crowd's reaction to the lies about Aramis had further unsettled him.

D'Artagnan threw his hands up and growled his frustration, and as if on cue, the door to the kitchens opened. A young woman leant against the doorframe pulling the straps of her dress back over her shoulders.

"You Porthos?" she asked eyeing the tall Musketeer.

"Aye," he grunted. "Jeanette?"

"That's me," she said and pulled an ornate slender blade from her skirt pocket. "My brother Julian says you was lookin' for this," she said brandishing it playfully. Porthos held out his hand silently and she handed it to him. Her wide eyes watched as he and D'Artagnan examined the blade.

"Where did you get this?" D'Artagnan asked incredulously as he took the blade from Porthos and gently ran his finger along where the blade was missing its tip.

The girl grinned. "Haven't seen it before, but it's his. The Comte's. He comes to visit sometimes when he's in town. Doesn't want the others to know. Ashamed, he is. Doesn't bother me though, and he pays well – double so I'll keep quiet," she said and tossed her hair proudly. "I nicked it when he was sleeping. Took him a while to get to sleep. He was worked up, excited. Somethin' about beatin' some Comte or somethin'" she prattled. She inhaled suddenly seeing the rage grow in the musketeers' eyes.

"Put the blade back," Porthos instructed. "Make sure he has it on him tomorrow," he said and passed her a small bag of coins.

She took the bag and the blade and held out her hand again. "And for Julian?" she asked.

"Send the boy to the garrison and I'll give him his cut," Porthos said, and she pouted but nodded her agreement.

"Wait," said D'Artagnan, "If he pays you well, then why are you helping us?"

Jeanette adjusted her dress proudly. "I know what I am, an' I'm alright with that. I provide for myself and for two brothers and a sister. With this I'll be able to get us a place of our own so they won't have to grow up in this," she said gesturing over her shoulder. "He's a hypocrite. He may have money, but his words is cruel and he's fouler than I am. He's ashamed. And no one is gonna make me ashamed of takin' care of my family," she said, and tossing her hair once more, she turned and marched back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her, leaving D'Artagnan speechless.

He exhaled slowly.

"We all do what we've got to to help the ones we love," said Porthos lowly. "Come on. Athos and Treville should be back by now. We should tell them about the blade."

oOo

The court was filled with an eerie excitement the next morning.

The Comte strode confidently towards the front of the room and took his seat. He spun his gold-topped cane in his hand, the light flashing off of its polished top. His dagger hung in its sheath at his side.

Aramis was led in, still bound, but looking much more like himself, though tired, in the clean shirt provided by the Queen.

He took the stand and the King rose to address the court once more.

"I was very moved by the events of yesterday. I trust that today's proceedings will transpire without the same interruptions. This is a court after all and I will not be swayed by outbursts," he said looking gravely at the assembled audience. Many present frowned deeply trying to determine the meaning behind the King's words. Were these aimed towards Christine and her comments at the close of court the day before or was this directed at the incendiary comments made by the Comte?

The King levelled his gaze on the Comte. "Comte de Gaulle, I thank you for your just questioning of your witnesses yesterday, as well as your recent contribution to our royal navy." If possible Athos frowned even more deeply at this. Aramis for his part did not react though inwardly his stomach plummeted at these words.

"It was my pleasure, your Majesty. As a loyal member of your court, I am honoured to contribute to the growing magnificence of France. My greatest regret is that my son will be unable to support your majesty in the same way that I have been honoured to. I trust that your Majesty will deliver a just judgement when the scales are set before him," said the Comte de Gaulle, his eyes travelling from the King to the face of Aramis, Christine and the other musketeers. Aramis felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine at the Comte's mention of scales.

"Well said my dear Comte," Louis said. "Aramis, as stated previously, you have been accused of the murder of the Viscomte de Gaulle. The court is waiting to hear your justification for such a heinous act – if such justification is possible."

Aramis straightened his shoulders and swallowed the grimace that this action caused as his injuries flared with pain. He glanced quickly towards where Christine stood with Treville and his brothers. Her bright eyes beamed back at him with strength and faith. He drew courage from that look as he began to address his King.

"My liege, I have no justification for my actions save for the truth of the event. It is true that we arrived at the manse of the Comte de Gaulle after being caught in the rain. Not wanting to delay the delivery of your missive, we were unable to change into fresh garments prior to meeting the Comte. The Viscomte was discomfited by our presence, but no hostile action was taken on the part of your musketeers while we were on the Comte's property. Following the successful delivery of your missive, as it was late, we retreated to the local inn to spend the evening prior to our departure in the morning. The Viscomte accosted us at the inn and challenged your lieutenant to a duel. Athos won," Aramis said. He was interrupted by a scoff from the Comte de Gaulle who obviously could not believe that his son could be defeated in a duel.

"Can you prove this?" asked the King casting his glance towards where Athos stood.

"Yes, sire. The local farrier witnessed the duel. He will testify to this," said Athos.

"Very well. But that doesn't explain why the Viscomte was killed."

"We departed early the next morning, eager to return to Paris. We were pursued. The Viscomte and a dozen men overtook us about an hour's ride from the city. A battle ensued. In the course of the battle, two of your musketeers were injured, sire. D'Artagnan's horse was killed from under him and he was injured in its fall. Porthos too took a nasty blow but was able to defend our brother. The Viscomte once more challenged Athos and was once again defeated."

"Preposterous!" interjected the Comte.

Aramis glared at him and continued. "Athos offered the Viscomte mercy. He turned his back on the man. It was at this point that the Viscomte plunged his blade into Athos' back. I fired on instinct in defence of my brother and your lieutenant, sire. It is my duty to honour the brotherhood of your musketeers and I fired in defence of the brother I love."

The room was quiet for a moment before the Comte spoke again. "This is all the fabrication of a blood crazed Spanish spy. These musketeers are present and accounted for, yet my son lies dead!"

Treville spoke out at this point. "What Aramis has said is true. He is one of the regiment's medics and treated the others of their injuries on the field. The blade broke in the attack on my lieutenant. Its tip was removed in a surgery performed upon their return to the infirmary."

The King nodded. "If what you say is true, the question remains: Do you regret your actions Aramis?"

Aramis hesitated. His eyes drifted once more towards Christine before he responded strongly, "No Sire, I do not regret my actions."

"You see?" shouted the Comte. "He admits it! He's a murderer!"

"I am not a murderer, but I do not regret my actions! Sire, I have been in your service since I was 16 years of age. The lives I have needed to take in my service to you are many. Do I regret these actions? No. I have never killed a man needlessly or outside of my duty to the crown. Do I regret that a life was lost and my hands were the ones to take it? Every time, sire. Every time. But I can swear to you that I have only ever killed out of necessity in defence of the crown or the innocent or my brothers-in-arms. I have spent my life in your service, fulfilling my duty as a musketeer." The room was silent as Aramis' earnest fervour washed over them.

"I know you to be a religious man, Aramis. Do you not find that your faith is in conflict with your duties as a musketeer?" the Queen asked softly.

Aramis frowned. "I do at times, my Queen. I find that I am only able to justify my actions as I said. They are done in the name of my duty to the crown or in defence of its peoples. I think that is also why I took up my role as a medic. I think…I feel…somehow… if I can help to save a life, it might make up for the times I've had to take one," he admitted sadly, casting his dark eyes downward. Christine felt her heart break at the honest confession of her husband.

The Queen smiled gently. "His Majesty and I are well aware of your work in the infirmary and the charitable acts that you have made a point of undertaking in addition to your other duties."

"Forgive me, my Lord, but does that justify a murder? Do alms pay for blood? Can a wolf not wear sheep's clothing?" The Comte shouted suddenly.

The King frowned. "I think the Queen –"

"Forgive me, my King, but the Queen is Spanish and the Comtesse des Etoiles is a close confidant of hers. It is unsurprising that she may have been influenced to excuse the actions of this wretch. My son was **_murdered_** , your majesty. Justice must be served," the Comte snarled, interrupting the King. The court gasped at his anger and insinuation. Porthos clenched his fists and Athos' eyes burned with pure hatred at the Comte.

"You have given me much to consider," the King said gravely, and Christine paled.

Treville stepped forward suddenly, bowing before the King. "My King, before you determine your decision I must say something."

Aramis' eyes went round.

"Go ahead Treville," the King said, gesturing for the Captain to rise.

"You Majesty, I have known Aramis for a lifetime. He was among the first men I recruited into your Majesty's regiment. His qualities helped to set the foundation for your Musketeers. He has been responsible for saving not only countless innocent lives, but those of his brothers-in-arms, your own and the Queen's, and my life as well. I have never questioned his devotion, honour or the completion of his duty. His actions, my Lord, were done to enforce the tenets of your regiment – dedication to honour, justice and loyalty to the crown and its people," Treville said passionately.

He paused then continued solemnly, his eyes locked onto those of the King. "The Musketeers' motto is 'all for one and one for all'. If Aramis is to be punished for following orders, for completing his duty that I assigned him and following the code that I demand from all of your men, then the punishment, my Lord, should be taken out on me."

"Captain! No!" gasped Aramis. The room had fallen silent.

"You would take on the punishment for this man? Whatever is decided? Why?" the King asked incredulously.

"I would, sire. He is like a son to me," said Treville determinedly.

"Your Majesty, no," Aramis pleaded. "I cannot let the Captain bear the burden of my actions. I swear I acted only in the fulfilment of my duty, but it was my hand that pulled the trigger. I take the responsibility. I will accept your decision, whatever it may be."

"Be quiet, soldier," Treville scolded.

"I will not, Captain. Not in this," said Aramis, his dark eyes blazing to meet the fiery blue ones of his Captain.

The King broke the stalemate between the two men. "We will take a recess. I have much to consider. Guards, return the Comte des Etoiles to his cell. We will reconvene in one hour."

oOo


	81. Weighted Scales, Ch 7

Weighted Scales

Chapter 7

They sat in silence in his cell.

One paced. One glared. One was still as stone.

One gently caressed his hand.

One looked over all of them.

There were no words to describe their situation.

The words of hope had all been spoken.

Jests were no longer possible.

They were simply together.

And together they waited.

oOo

The hour seemed to fly by in an instant, while simultaneously drag on for a lifetime.

Much too soon, yet not soon enough, the guard rapped on the door and led Aramis back to the courtroom. Christine walked proudly next to him, his manacled hand held tightly in hers. The others walked as a guard around them, the jailers bringing up the rear.

Aramis took his place while Christine and the others filed into the gallery.

The King marched gravely to the dais with the Queen at his side. He took his seat and solemnly regarded the assembly before him.

"I believe I have made my decision, but I will allow both parties to make one final plea," said Louis.

"I can say no more than what has already been said, my lord. You know me, sire, know the man I am. I once again swear my fealty to you and will accept the consequences of your judgement whatever it may be," Aramis said, lifting his chin proudly, his dark eyes meeting those of the Monarch.

The Comte approached the dais, his anger quelling much of the illness that had been previously rattling his body. He stood proud and strong now, his hand twitching slightly near the jewelled dagger at his hip. "This _Comte_ murdered my son. Unprovoked," he hissed. "I have provided two witnesses to testify to his crime. He claims my son attacked a musketeer? Where is the proof? He is a Spanish spy and will seek to overthrow you before long, your Majesty. It is time you weigh the value of his loyalty and service compared to mine," he said, each syllable cold and menacing.

the King's eyes widened and something in Porthos snapped. He pushed forward suddenly, incensed by the Comte's final statements. No amount of gold could ever compare to the lifetime of service Aramis had offered the crown, and Porthos would be struck dead before he would let an exchange of gold lead his brother to the galllows.

"Your majesty, if you choose to execute or punish Aramis, then you'll have t'execute me as well for I woulda acted the same way in that situation. All of us would, and if ya need proof that the Viscomte tried to murder Athos, then make the Comte show you his dagger. I'd bet my life that it's missin' its tip which is a match to the one we pulled from Athos' back!" Porthos growled. "I'd bet my life on it," he repeated.

Athos and D'Artagnan stepped forward to align themselves with Porthos.

"We all would," said Athos.

Christine and Treville stepped forward, unifying with the others in their stand before the King.

"This is outrageous!" the Comte cried. "How dare this mongrel make such an accusation!"

"The blade that was used bore your family crest – the stag and the crow. It was not recovered at the scene of the attack. Nor was the body of your son found among his men," said Athos.

"Silence! This bastard killed my son! I demand justice!" screamed the Comte.

"Allow us to examine your dagger, de Gaulle," said the King, suddenly stern.

"My son was murdered! I demand justice!" he screamed again and stared wildly around the courtroom for support. The eyes of the other courtiers quickly looked away. The Comte's mouth dropped open as the rage spilled out of him at the betrayal by his peers. Releasing a ferocious guttural scream he pulled the broken blade from its sheath and leapt towards the dais.

The Queen let out a cry and the King pushed back on his throne, but Aramis leapt forward and intercepted the mad Comte.

He raised his bound hands to stop the Comte's attack and the blade came down and entered his chest. A shot rang out and the two men crumpled onto the courtroom floor.

oOo

It was chaos.

The courtiers panicked and surged about like wasps from a disturbed nest.

Treville pushed forward calling his musketeers to protect the King and Queen.

Louis' eyes were fixed on the bodies of the men lying before him.

Porthos threw the lifeless body of the Comte de Gaulle off of Aramis; Athos' pistol shot had pierced his side, driving the life from him and reuniting him with his son.

Aramis lay bleeding on the courtroom floor.

Christine threw herself down at his side, D'Artagnan next her as Porthos and Athos stood guard against the frenzied crowd who were being forced from the room by the palace guards and other musketeers.

Aramis' eyes were wide and panicked. The ornate blade protruded from high on his chest close to his shoulder where the wound slowly seeped blood.

"The King," Aramis panted.

"He's safe. We all are. Lie still so I can help you," Christine soothed putting pressure around the blade.

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut in pain but nodded his head.

"Fetch the surgeon!" cried the King, but it was unclear if any of his panicked staff took action.

"We need to get him out of here," said D'Artagnan, seeing the continued madness of the crowd.

Christine nodded. Porthos pulled a tablecloth from a table nearby sending an arrangement of flowers tumbling to the floor and handed it to Christine.

"Aramis, love, I need to pull this blade so we can move you," she said calmly. "It will hurt and the bleeding will increase once I do."

He nodded his understanding and locked his eyes on her. He lifted his left hand to cover hers where it continued the pressure on the right side of his chest. He gave her hand a squeeze and nodded for her to begin.

She kissed his lips, then fixed her eyes on D'Artagnan.

"Swiftly, and straight out," she instructed and he nodded his understanding.

With a quick smile at D'Artagnan, Aramis locked his eyes onto Christine. If these were to be his final moments he wanted her face and those eyes to be the last thing he saw. She stared determinedly back at him. She would not let him die.

D'Artagnan's hand hovered over the blade. He took a deep breath, then grasped its handle and pulled firmly.

A violent cry tore from Aramis' throat and Christine immediately pressed the tablecloth Porthos had handed her over the wound, which had begun to bleed more forcefully. D'Artagnan threw the blade to the floor. Aramis paled to match the starched white cloth – the blood transferring from the man to the material rapidly.

A rumble and a clatter and Porthos had liberated another tablecloth.

Christine pulled Aramis' shirt aside, the blood having run down his side to stain the bandages still binding his bruised ribs. Grasping the second tablecloth, she cast the first away and quickly examined the small entry wound. Though the blood still flowed from it, it was not saturating the second covering as quickly as the first, though at this point Aramis was no longer conscious.

"Alright, let's move him," said Christine, her hand reapplying pressure to the cloth and the wound.

"This way," said the King, pushing his way forward with Treville.

Porthos knelt and lifted Aramis carefully in his arms, Christine's hand a steady constant on the breast of his brother, and they followed the King and Treville from the room, Athos and D'Artagnan following with the Queen.

oOo


	82. Weighted Scales, Ch 8

_**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone following along with this adventure. The time you take to read and write - it's really appreciated. Really.**_

 _ **Thank you also for being patient with me as it took a while to finish up this story. There'll be more to come for Aramis and Christine! Thanks for reading! Cheers!**_

* * *

Weighted Scales

Chapter 8

It was madness.

Christine's hands were coated in blood as she and D'Artagnan tended to Aramis' wound.

Treville had managed to manoeuvre the King and Queen from the palace infirmary though not without loud protests from the King. It took the Queen and Captain's combined influence to remind the King of the threat made to his life, at which point Louis sullenly agreed to be escorted to his more secure private chambers.

Athos and Porthos had not yet returned from escorting the royals. D'Artagnan kept pressure on the wound as Christine rifled through the infirmary stores for the items she needed. The nurses stood back, eager to not impede her purposeful actions.

"He looks pale," said D'Artagnan worriedly as Christine lay out her supplies.

She cut away the blood-stained shirt and with a meaningful look at D'Artagnan, he lifted the material that covered the stab wound.

"Thank God the blade was so narrow," he muttered as the injury continued to bleed slowly.

Christine frowned. "He's bleeding quite a bit..."

"I think the blade hit bone. I could feel it scrape as I withdrew it," D'Artagnan replied.

Christine nodded. "I'll need to widen the entry to make sure there are no fragments or bone shards. If it grazed his collarbone, it's possible part of it may have chipped off. It doesn't appear to have broken," she said.

"You can do this," D'Artagnan told her confidently and their eyes locked.

"Hold him steady," she said as she lifted her blade. Carefully she placed the blade against the injury and widened its opening. More blood escaped as the blade cut. She used her forceps to open the injury and began to flush it, first with water, then with a clear alcohol.

Aramis' body reacted instinctively to the purifying burn.

Porthos and Athos burst back into the room. Christine glanced up briefly.

"The blade grazed his clavicle. I can see a fragment of bone. I need to remove it before I can stitch him," she said.

Porthos and Athos moved to her side and helped D'Artagnan steady him.

Delicately she entered a pair of tweezers into the wound and his unconscious body reacted to the intrusion.

Her brow furrowed as she manoeuvred the instrument. None of them dared to breathe as oh so carefully, she withdrew a slight sliver of bone clasped by her tool.

She exhaled as she dropped the instrument and shard in a bowl. Then, with a pointed look at the others she flushed the wound once more with alcohol before sewing the wound shut. D'Artagnan applied a salve and fresh bandages to the wound as she washed the blood from her hands. Treville entered and locked eyes with Athos who gave him an affirmative nod.

"How is he?" the Captain asked Christine.

"He is resting. He lost quite a bit of blood, but he should be well once he wakes up."

"That's good...the Queen has had a room prepared where he can recover...in order for the trial to resume," he said sadly.

"WHAT?! Ya can't be serious!" roared Porthos.

Treville frowned. "The King is insisting that the trial be completed. He wants to be informed as soon as he wakes and can stand trial."

The others looked livid as Christine paled. Athos stood next to her where her eyes were fixed on the still form of her husband.

"What can we do?" he asked Treville, masking the plea in his voice.

"We wait," Christine replied as she ran her fingers through Aramis' hair.

oOo

Aramis awoke in a soft bed and with a clean shirt covering new bandages on his chest.

His eyes were still closed but he could hear the gentle murmur of voices nearby.

"You're almost more bandage than man now," said the soft voice he treasured.

"But am I still handsome?" he asked teasingly. Lips met his in response.

"And modest," said the voice and he grinned and opened his eyes. Christine was seated on the mattress at his injured side.

"Hello," he said softly as he brushed her dark curls behind her ear and stared up into her glowing eyes.

"Hello," she replied as she bent forward and kissed him again, enveloping him in her love and the smell of mint and lavender. He grimaced slightly as the new pain flared in his chest, but he refused to release her and kissed her once more.

"If you keep getting injured at the palace, you'll soon have your own suite here," drawled Athos.

"How else will you get to practise your courtly manners?" Aramis retorted weakly.

Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan stood around his bed.

"How are you feeling?" D'Artagnan asked worriedly.

"I'm alive," he grimaced as he fought to sit upright, Christine hastily adjusting the pillows behind his back.

"I'm alive," he repeated, "And that's in no short order thanks to all of you."

"Do you remember anythin'?" Porthos asked, his face worried.

"Bits and pieces," Aramis admitted. "Where is the Comte?"

"He's dead," said Treville, entering followed by servants bearing trays of food.

Aramis frowned. "Forgive me, but it's a bit hazy." He shrugged his shoulders and immediately hissed as his new stitches pulled.

"Careful," Christine admonished gently, handing him a cup of water, which he drank.

"What's the last thing you remember?" D'Artagnan asked.

"The last thing? You pulling a blade from my chest. The how it got there part is the part that's hazy," he said, and smirked at D'Artagnan who grinned ruefully back.

"Ya well, you've gotta talent for makin' people angry," Porthos said, the worry easing from him slightly.

"I remember being before the King, awaiting his verdict," Aramis prompted.

"The Comte had colourful things to say about you," said Athos and Christine rolled her eyes and tutted in frustration at their meandering banter. Aramis was resting though, and Christine was managing to get him to eat something while he was distracted, so she didn't interrupt.

"Apparently something he said hit a nerve with Porthos. I remember him shouting."

Porthos grinned bashfully and Athos smirked. "Essentially, Porthos made a bet with his life as the ante."

"We all did," D'Artagnan corrected. Aramis gasped suddenly as the images from the courtroom flashed suddenly through his mind.

"You knew he had the dagger. How?" Aramis asked.

"Asked a courtesan. Y'always say they know all the secrets of Paris. A child from the Court I know, his sister was one of the Comte's regulars. She showed us the blade. Had the broken tip an' everythin'"

"The Comte must have recovered it when he pulled his son's body from the field. Porthos made certain that it was worn to court," said Treville, taking a sip from a glass of wine that the servants had provided.

"That was a big risk, mon ami," said Aramis.

"Was worth it. Was the only way to win big."

"After that, the Comte snapped," said Athos. "He drew his blade and made a lunge for the King."

"That was when he stabbed me," Aramis said slowly as Christine pressed more food upon him.

She sighed. "Really, I don't know what you were thinking. You were still shackled – trussed like a turkey," she scolded.

"I heard a pistol fire."

"I had to return the favour," Athos said smirking at the marksman as he too sipped from a cup of wine.

Aramis' eyelids began to droop. "Glad your aim is improving," he chirped.

Christine rolled her eyes again. "Rest now," she soothed.

"We'll be back tomorrow. The King has permitted you to recover here for a few days…" said Athos as he and the other Musketeers made to leave.

"The trial?" Aramis asked, causing everyone present to frown.

"Though the Comte is dead the King is determined to complete the proceedings," said Treville morosely and their collective anxiety perforated the room.

Aramis frowned, but nodded resignedly and Christine grasped his hand tightly.

"Do not worry about that now," she said. "You are safe and recovering and I am here. I will not let them take you from me," she swore, the fire burning bright in her eyes. Aramis returned the squeeze of her hand as he fell asleep.

Christine raised his hand to her lips and in a familiar gesture, she kissed the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat steadily. She turned her head to meet the determined eyes of the musketeers. They'd stand together, come what may.

oOo

It was two days later when Aramis stood before the King awaiting his decision at court. The audience was small and sombre but the King was no less regal.

"Aramis, when you chose to serve as both Comte and Musketeer the decision you made was quite a difficult one. It may have not seemed so at the time, as I'm sure you were mesmerized by the radiance of your wife on your wedding day. Now, however, knowing that your circumstances have changed and having experienced the repercussions of standing on both sides of this wall, I must ask you again, do you wish to remain a musketeer?"

The court stood stunned as the King scrutinized Aramis before proceeding.

"Once again it seems I owe you my life Aramis, but once again, a member of an ancient family lies dead. I believe you to be a good man. Good, and just and honourable. I trust your loyalty and sense of honour which you displayed once again only a few days ago. But with this trust, you have also now earned doubt."

The room held its breath awaiting the King's verdict.

"Though I do not wish to relinquish your service, I must ask you again, do you desire to remain a musketeer? With this trust that I proclaim openly, will come greater scrutiny of your actions as a musketeer. You will not receive exemption from justice due to your title as a Comte. In fact it seems that all of the court shall now be paying more attention to your deeds. Choose now. Can you continue to serve me as a musketeer knowing that the eyes of the court may question your actions in perilous situations? Can you perform under that scrutiny? Or would you prefer to remove yourself from the hazardous duty that is serving in my regiment?"

Aramis' head buzzed as he absorbed the King's words.

Could he live his life under constant supervision as a musketeer? Could he even consider a life outside the musketeers? Could he risk his life and that of his wife by continuing to serve? Could he risk the lives of his brothers by not?

His eyes met hers and her love and faith filled him. The fire he adored sprung to them as she nodded her head. His lips parted and he beamed at her before turning his head to face his King.

He knelt before the dais and answered, "Your majesty, it is my honour to continue in my service as both Comte and musketeer. I swear to continue to serve honourably and abide by the code of your musketeers."

"Good," said Louis. "I had hoped you'd say that. Aramis, Comte des Etoiles, I find you not guilty of the crimes laid before you. I accept your service and declare you exonerated of all charges. You are free to go."

The room erupted in cheers as the King and Queen stepped away from the dais and exited the court. Aramis rose to his feet and was immediately enveloped by Christine who gripped him tightly. They kissed passionately as their relief spilled forth at the King's verdict. The broad and relieved smiles on the other musketeers' faces escorted them from the courtroom.

oOo

It was quiet in their home. The staff had long ago retired to their beds.

It had been a night of relief, if not celebration. Aramis was free and cleared of all charges.

Captain Treville, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan had joined him and Christine for an intimate dinner. Several bottles of wine and broad smiles were shared, but the jubilant laughter that often emanated from gatherings like this was missing.

As each set of eyes made contact or as a smirk was shared, the family gathered could only be relieved that fortune had smiled upon them. They were safe and reunited once more.

Aramis lay in his bed holding his wife in his arms. He raised his hand to brush a strand of her hair that was obscuring his view of her face. She smiled at him and kissed him lightly. He grinned back at her and pulled her closer. The grin turned into a slight grimace as his stitches pulled.

Her eyes softened as she kissed him again. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, "And I won't redo those stitches if you tear them," she added teasingly. His eyes flashed in the mischievous way that always made her heart flutter especially when partnered with that rakish grin that had crept across his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I can't help it. You were almost taken from me."

"I never would have let that happen," she swore and he grinned and kissed her again.

"I know, mi tesora, but there were a lot of guards…and my fate was in the King's hands," Aramis teased.

"That doesn't matter. We would have found a way," she promised him, her eyes burning with that promise. A warmth swelled in his chest at her words.

"I can't believe how close it was…" he began to say but she pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Shush my love. Let's not think of it. I have you back. You're back where you belong," she said as he kissed the tips of her fingers.

"I have promised you many times, my love, I will always find my way back to you." He pressed his lips to hers again and they kissed passionately.

His dark eyes sparkled as they delved deeply into her shining grey ones – the eyes he so adored. She ran her hands through his hair as his grip on her waist tightened.

She couldn't fight her love for him or the pull he had on her. "I'm warning you – you had better not pull those stitches in your zealousness," she teased.

"My zealousness or yours?" he teased back and was silenced by her mouth on his as they made love through the night, celebrating their reunion after all…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo


	83. The Package, Ch 1

_**A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to the next instalment in The Christine Series! Alittle birthday treat to myself... Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

The Package 

Chapter 1 

She stood at the gates and watched the sun sink beneath the Parisian skyline, her arms crossed. The rooftops were burnt crimson and copper as the fought its oncoming slumber. She bit her lip as she searched the streets that led to the musketeers' garrison for any sign of her husband.

"Don't worry," said Cornet as he and Etienne approached her, certain to get into some sort of trouble for the night.

"He'll be back soon. If he could see how beautiful you look at this moment he'd be here in an instant. In fact, I hardly know how he has the stomach to leave when you look as lovely as you do," Cornet said as he grinned and winked at her.

"You shouldn't speak that way to a married woman," Etienne scolded and shook his head, "Especially when you have no chance with her."

"A man can dream...Must you always spoil mine?" Cornet asked, as Christine laughed at the antics of her friends.

Placing a hand on her arm, Etienne asked, "How long have they been gone?"

"Two weeks as of Saturday," she said with a sigh. Cornet and Etienne exchanged a brief glance, that unfortunately Christine noticed.

Cornet smiled warmly at her. "They're only two days late. There's no reason to worry yet," he said.

"I know," said Christine, "It's just that you Musketeers seem to be an accident prone bunch. I'll not stitch you up again if your romantic pursuits end up with you brawling with any more jealous husbands."

"What can I say?" Cornet said grinning, "Perhaps beautiful married women are my type?" he said kissing the back of her hand. She laughed again as she and Etienne rolled their eyes at each other.

"Keep him out of trouble," she said to Etienne as he pushed Cornet away from the gates.

He shook his head. "I'll do what I can," Etienne said. "Don't worry. He'll come back to you," he said to her, as she smiled and waved at the men as they wandered down the road, laughing merrily.

oOo

Christine turned restlessly in their large bed. Her hand stroked the mattress as she imagined Aramis lying there next to her.

She imagined the arch of his well-muscled shoulder and the curve of his neck. She imagined the weight of his arms around her as he held her close. She imagined she could see the strong line of his jaw that ended in his beard. She could almost feel the sweet, heavy breaths that escaped from his perfect mouth as he slept; the slight lines of strain and responsibility smoothed away in his sleep as the curtain of his dark lashes hid the vast pools that resided in his entrancing eyes.

She smiled to herself as she imagined pushing back the wayward dark curls that would inevitably fall onto his brow. She fell asleep with the thought of his fingers entwined in her hair.

oOo

Aramis rode distractedly as they set out on their horses just after dawn. They were still nearly a day out from Paris. His desire to return, to take his wife in his arms, to gaze into her fiery blue-grey eyes and kiss the lips he dreamt of each night spurred him on.

They had set out from Paris over two weeks ago with a larger retinue of Musketeers than they usually rode with. Eight men had been dispatched to the northeast to retrieve a package from the Prince of Sweden for the King of France. It had been a long ride, but was essentially problem free.

Well, problem free except for the few minor challenges and groups of bandits that they had met along the way, but with seven musketeers to protect a wagon that was guarded by another who drove it, they were bound to attract attention.

They were plagued by rain in the northern regions, and their return journey had been made even more tiresome two days earlier when their trusted wagon's wheel had snagged on the soggy uneven road and broken an axel. It took them much of the day to repair the damage to the wagon in order to make it serviceable, and there was still no guarantee that their repairs would last the remaining leagues to Paris.

His brothers around him were also restless and eager to return to city. He cast a glance around him.

He smiled up at Henri who drove the team of horses pulling the wagon. Athos and D'Artagnan rode ahead. He could see the Gascon suffering slightly as he rode silently next to their glowering and frustrated brother. This was a real trial for the boisterous young man who was clearly struggling with the silent and gloomy mood of the other. Francois and Guillaume chatted quietly on the other side of the wagon from where Aramis rode with Porthos while Bernard guarded the rear.

"You'll be back with her soon," said Porthos with a nudge and a smile as the team entered a wooded section of the road.

Aramis grinned. "Am I really that easy to read?"

"When it comes to her, yes," said his friend. Aramis let out a loud boisterous laugh that brought a smile to his brothers around him, even Athos' lips quirking slightly.

They all rode on in brighter spirits after their long and arduous journey as Aramis and Porthos joked back and forth in their familiar banter. They pulled to a halt around mid-day to eat and give their horses a rest. Paris couldn't come soon enough!

oOo


	84. The Package, Ch 2

**_A/N: Well that started nicely enough. Nothing could possibly go wrong, could it?_**

* * *

The Package

Chapter 2

Athos looked out at the wagon again.

It seemed ridiculous that such a large wagon was needed to haul the package that was hardly as large as a trunk, but it was the only one available at their disposal at the small town where the exchange was made.

Bernard approached Athos with a cup of wine. The two musketeers discussed the remainder of their route while the others struck camp.

D'Artagnan and Francois were filling water skins while Guillaume doused the fire. Porthos and Henri savoured their remaining moments out of the saddle while Aramis finished cleaning his weapons.

Suddenly the marksman sat straight upright as Francois and D'Artagnan re-entered the clearing where the group had paused to rest.

"Aramis," said Athos, immediately noticing the marksman's tense posture as he deftly loaded his harquebus, "What is it?"

The others stilled, knowing that Aramis' sixth sense for danger was as accurate as his aim with a musket.

"Get down!" he shouted as his brothers dropped to the ground. The woods around them splintered amid a torrent of gunfire. Aramis fired his harquebus, whose bullet was met by a scream in the distance as he leapt to his feet and drew his pistols.

A dozen men or more poured from the surrounding woods, all armed and looking for violence.

The musketeers immediately spread out, separating their foes. Two more men fell instantly to Aramis' pistols as he dropped them and pulled his rapier and parrying dagger from their sheaths.

Porthos and Guillaume felled another two men with their pistols, as did Athos and Francois, but even with seven men down, the enemy kept pouring from the woods. They were up to fourteen foes now, and Bernard quietly hoped that that was all there would be.

A violent and furious battle ensued. These men were well trained, demonstrating some skill with a blade.

D'Artagnan and Francois fought back to back against several men, Francois quickly felling one of their opponents with a lunge with his rapier. Athos and Bernard had their rapiers drawn, two more falling to their remarkable swordsmanship while the others held back, unsure as to how to penetrate these defences.

Guillaume took a glancing blow to the arm as he battled his foes. He cradled his arm against him, his eyes wide as he faced two enemy combatants at once. Porthos, seeing the slight panic in the younger man's eyes, dealt a deadly blow to the man he was facing with his parrying dagger and engaged one of the men circling Guillaume. The threat to his life lessened, Guillaume fought the remaining man with gusto, his injured arm pressed against him. Though their opponents were skilled, they lacked the prowess and finesse of the Musketeers.

D'Artagnan killed off another attacker when suddenly stars erupted before his eyes. An enemy had struck a cowardly blow by circling to his backside while D'Artagnan had been fighting his other foe.

D'Artagnan crumpled to the ground, and Francois and Henri took up defensive stances over the prone musketeer, Henri plunging his dagger deep within the breast of the coward who struck D'Artagnan.

As D'Artagnan fell, Porthos let out a bellow of rage. His ferocity doubled as he grappled with a beast of a man, their weapons long since lost or forgotten. Their hands were clasped as they fought for supremacy. In a quick shift, Porthos was able to draw his knee up into the gut of the other man. He exhaled violently and fell away. Porthos roared as he felt the plunge of a blade in his calf. The blade's owner had only moments remaining on this earth, as with a few successive blows, the man lay motionless as Porthos stood panting over him.

"Porthos!" shouted Aramis as he vanquished his own opponent and turned to make his way towards his brother.

"Aramis!" shouted Athos as he and Bernard engaged with another set of opponents.

In his haste to reach his brother, Aramis did not notice the man who had aimed a dagger in his direction. He threw himself to the ground to dodge the blade and sprung up from a neat roll as one of Porthos' throwing knives found purchase in the man.

The battle was nearing its end.

Dead bandits lay all about them. D'Artagnan was still unconscious, his head cradled in Francois' lap as Henri stood guard, daring another man to try to harm their injured brother-in-arms. Guillaume, Athos and Bernard were finishing the last of the enemy; those who weren't dead, fled to the trees or surrendered. Porthos leant heavily against a tree applying pressure to the wound in his leg.

As Aramis made his way towards Porthos, one supposedly felled opponent leapt up suddenly behind him. Aramis spun to face him. The man thrust his blade at Aramis' side. Aramis countered, plunging his own dagger deep within the man's chest. He hissed as he felt his enemy's blade twist in his side as he fell, life fleeting from his eyes.

Aramis ignored the new pain in his side; he needed to see to his brothers.

He was vaguely aware that he may have cracked or at least bruised a rib in one of his scuffles as well, but while the battle adrenaline still flowed and he had at least three brothers injured, his own injuries would have to wait.

He hastily wadded up his shirt to stem the bleeding at his side.

Porthos was sweating slightly from the pain and the blood that continued to ooze from the injury. Aramis tore the pant leg to get a better look at the wound.

"Hey!" Porthos said looking at his ravaged pants.

"I'll purchase you a new pair," Aramis muttered. "You know this will need stitches."

"Knew you'd say that..." he grumbled in reply.

"Keep the pressure on and try to keep this elevated. I've got to check the others," he said, suppressing a grimace.

Guillaume's wound was minor. He instructed Bernard to bind it tightly as he moved to check on D'Artagnan.

"He's come around, but he's quite confused," said Francois as Aramis approached him. The marksman was paling but he kept moving.

"D'Artagnan," he said as he tapped the man's face.

"'Mis," mumbled the Gascon.

Aramis smiled, "This is no time for a nap, mon ami."

"Sorry," he muttered, his eyes struggling to focus.

He looked at Francois. "Let's get him upright."

Francois lifted D'Artagnan to a seated position. Athos knelt with a water skin and fed it to the Gascon. He glanced at Aramis. A light sheen of sweat had formed on the medic.

Without being asked, Aramis muttered, "I'm not sure that he'll be up to riding…"

Athos nodded, his face clouding over as he looked quizzically at his brother. Aramis smiled and made his way to Porthos. Bernard had retrieved Aramis' medical kit and he smiled at him in thanks. He staggered slightly as he knelt next to Porthos.

"You alright?" Porthos asked, his face clouding over as he looked at his brother.

"Just tired, mon ami. Let's get you patched," he said as he removed his bottle of spirits and his needle and thread from his bag. "Will you be a good patient, or will I need to call Athos?" he asked with a grin.

Porthos scowled. "Bernard, can you help to restrain him?" Aramis asked as he threaded his needle.

Bernard knelt behind Porthos and restrained his arms.

"Sorry about this," Bernard said.

"Not as sorry as you may be," Porthos muttered as he tensed as Aramis unstopped the bottle.

He doused the wound in the clear liquor and Porthos lurched in pain. Bernard held tight as the burning sensation faded. The wound wasn't large but it was deep. Aramis placed his stitches as quickly as possible, knowing the discomfort it put his brother in. He doused the wound once more and bound it tightly with a clean bandage.

"Can he walk?" Athos asked from over the medic's shoulder. Aramis looked at Porthos sternly, who gave a slight shake of his head. He was pale and sweaty after his ordeal. Aramis grinned slightly at his brother's honesty.

"No," said Aramis, "but I believe if we get him mounted he should be fine to ride. D'Artagnan, however, should ride in the cart or with someone, at least to start. He should not ride unaccompanied. You can present him with those options," he said with a grin.

Athos nodded. "With these prisoners we'll still be nearly a half day from Paris. We should get moving," he said.

Aramis nodded as he began repacking his bag. Athos extended his hand to Porthos and between him and Bernard, they had the large man standing. Guillaume brought the horses to them and with a slight struggle they had Porthos mounted. D'Artagnan they lay in the wagon with Francois kneeling with him.

As the others prepared to depart, Aramis stepped away and quickly doused his own wound with the alcohol. He swallowed his hiss of pain and quickly stuffed some bandages and wadding at his side. The wound was ragged and he knew none of his brothers would be capable of tending it. He would have it seen to when they got to back to Paris. It would only be a few more hours.

Not for thE first time was Aramis glad for his long doublet - it would help hide any blood that might leak through the bandages. He wrapped his sash tightly around him, hoping to give the injured rib on his other side some relief as well.

In a few hours he'd be back in Paris where she was. Christine's smiling face sprung up in his mind's eye and he kissed the three-starred pendant that hung next to his heart. He mounted his horse, swallowing a moan.

In a few hours, he'd have her in his arms and everything would be fine.

oOo


	85. The Package, Ch 3

_**A/N: Thank you for all your kind messages and for continuing to read this. I've missed this!**_

* * *

The Package

Chapter 3

They trudged towards Paris with Athos in the lead. Henri drove the cart that carried Francois and D'Artagnan while Guillaume and Bernard shepherded their prisoners in the wagon's wake. Aramis swayed as he rode quietly next to Porthos, his eyes going in and out of focus. They had stopped only once after a few hours in the saddle.

Porthos glanced at his brother from time to time, but Aramis kept greeting him with a small smile. Porthos assumed that his quiet demeanour was simply due to his eagerness to return to Christine and his concern for D'Artagnan who continued coming in and out of consciousness. The sooner he was resting in the infirmary, the better.

Athos called another halt to allow their horses to rest before they tackled the last leg of their journey. He and the others dismounted and handed the prisoners a waterskin.

Aramis and Porthos remained in the saddle. Athos raised his eyebrow. As though on cue, Porthos shouted "Oy!" as Aramis tumbled out of the saddle.

Athos ran, sliding on his knees to the medic's side. Porthos' horse circled nervously as he helplessly stared down at his brother.

Athos rolled the marksman onto his back. His skin was pale, drawn and sweaty. Bernard had flocked to his side. Athos' eyes flared as he saw the blood on the shirt beneath his doublet. He pulled the doublet open and growled. His sash was saturated with blood. The wadded bandages were completely soaked through. He undid the sash and threw the bandages to the side and stared at the mangled knife wound near the medic's lower ribs, which still continued to bleed.

"Damn it! Aramis!" he shouted tapping the man's face probably a little harder than he meant to, but given his rage at the moment, the medic was lucky he wasn't strangling him.

"'m fine," the marksman muttered as he tried to sit up.

"What part of this is fine?" Athos shouted. "What happened?"

"Got stabbed," he said simply, which nearly enraged the swordsman more. Bernard shot Athos a warning look and he struggled to control himself.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Bernard asked.

"Couldn't stitch it myself," he muttered. "Didn't think it would bleed so much."

"What else is bothering you?" Athos asked sternly.

Aramis scowled slightly at his brother but quailed under the intense gaze. "A rib, other side. It's just bruised. Nothing you can do," he grumbled.

From above them Porthos roared. "Why didn't you say anything?! Of all the selfish, stupid things…"

"Had to check on you, Guillaume and D'Artagnan," he said and glared back at Porthos. Athos and Porthos sighed. It was so like their big-hearted brother to put everyone else's life before his own. They cursed themselves for not recognizing his modus operandi sooner.

"We should stop," said Bernard, but Aramis shook his head.

"Need to get back to Paris," he said weakly. Bernard looked at Athos who nodded his head.

"My own medical knowledge is not skilled enough to treat this. Paris isn't far. If we place him in the wagon we should make it on time," he said.

Bernard bit his lip but nodded. "Ok, let's repack the wound and bind the ribs again at least."

They lay Aramis next to D'Artagnan in the cart. He was ash pale and coated in sweat. Athos was suddenly grateful for the large wagon. Francois remained in the wagon, D'Artagnan's head cradled in his lap. The Gascon had come around a few times on the return journey, enough to take in a little water.

Francois held the water skin to Aramis' mouth as well. Next to Aramis, Francois had the most medical experience on this journey, but it paled in comparison to the marksman's. He was unable to properly stitch the wound, and the red inflamed and savaged edges of the injury hinted at infection. Francois was unsure what elements from the medical kit to combine to deter the infection's growth. As Paris approached, he grew more and more concerned for the two men lying with him in the cart.

oOo

It was long after supper when the musketeers pulled into the garrison.

"Etienne!" shouted Athos as the wagon pulled to a halt. Henri leapt from the driver's seat and calling to the few cadets that lingered in the courtyard, they ran to grab stretchers. Treville approached the cart as Etienne ran from the infirmary. He assessed Porthos who was being helped from his horse by Bernard.

"What is going on here?" Treville demanded, glancing at the prisoners that Guillaume and a few others were coralling towards the garrison's holding cells. "Porthos?" he asked.

"Stabbed. Calf. Stitched," said Bernard by way of explanation under the weight of the larger man.

Etienne nodded. "To the infirmary," he said as he moved to look at those laid out in the wagon.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here," he muttered as he took in Aramis' pale complexion. "What did he do?"

"We were ambushed. He was stabbed. The wound is ugly. I think the blade was serrated judging by the mess of it. He didn't tell us; he was more focused on the others' injuries. He knew we wouldn't be able to treat it and he was unable to stitch it himself. He also mentioned a rib on the other side. Cleaned the wound as best as we could, but it looked like it had the start of infection," said Athos bitterly

Etienne nodded and placed a hand on the man's head. It felt warm which made the musketeer frown. "He's got a slight fever. Not sure if that's from the exertion, the wound or the loss of blood." Henri and three recruits appeared bearing stretchers. "Get him to the infirmary."

As the men lifted Aramis from the cart, D'Artagnan began to stir.

"Pistol to the back of the head," said Francois. "He's come around a few times. Never more than for a few minutes."

Etienne nodded. "D'Artagnan, can you hear me?"

D'Artagnan's eyes fluttered as he tried to focus on the medic's voice.

"D'Artagnan?" Etienne tried again.

"'tienne? We back in Paris?" he muttered, his eyes meeting the medic's.

Etienne smiled. "Yes, you're back. We're going to get you more comfortable," he said to which the Gascon grimaced. "You took a blow to the head." They lifted D'Artagnan onto the stretcher and carried him to the infirmary.

Athos went to follow, but Treville reached out his hand to stop him.

"You need to go get Christine," he said. "She'll need to be here," he said, his eyes growing dark with concern.

Athos looked at the man and raised an eyebrow.

Treville sighed. "It seems like he lost a lot of blood. That plus the infection…if Aramis slips into a fever, he'll more than likely need her voice to guide him back…if he can come back. I'll see this package gets delivered to his Majesty."

Athos' eyes flashed at these words – he had long since forgotten the King's gift. He doubted very much that it would be worth the injuries to his brothers.

Once more he mounted Roger, who though tired, stood strong and proud beneath his master. He galloped from the garrison towards the rue St Germain.

oOo

Marie answered the door at Athos' urgent knocking. She backed away instantly and ran to get her mistress at the haggard blood stained sight of the musketeer.

"Athos!" called Christine as she stood at the top of the stairs.

"You need to come with me," he said.

"What's wrong?" she gasped.

She ran down the stairs not waiting for his answer and squeezed passed him and approached Roger. Athos lifted her to the saddled and quickly mounted behind her. They galloped though her courtyard and across the streets of Paris and into the Musketeer Garrison.

oOo


	86. The Package, Ch 4

_**A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! I really appreciate your feedback! Our musketeers are injured! What will happen next?!**_

* * *

The Package

Chapter 4

Roger was sweating when they arrived back at the garrison. Christine dismounted and stumbled slightly in her haste. She wrapped her arms around her middle for a moment to steady herself before she dashed towards the infirmary. She froze at the door as she took in the scene.

Aramis lay in a bed near the back of the room. D'Artagnan was sitting up on the bed next to him. On another bed on the other side of the room, sat Porthos, Etienne redressing the wound in his leg. She paled as she looked at her love turning fitfully beneath the white starched infirmary sheets.

Silently she glided ghost-like over to him and stroked the hair from his face. Treville, sitting by D'Artagnan, rose.

Athos put a hand on her shoulder and she flinched. "We were attacked on the road. Aramis was stabbed. He knew we didn't have the medical knowledge to properly treat the wound, so he packed it and rode on towards Paris. He collapsed about an hour's ride from the city."

"Etienne," she said, not taking her eyes from Aramis' face. Her hand ran down his chest and settled on his pendant.

"The wound seemed to be made by a serrated blade. It was torn pretty badly. He was right not to have the others attempt to stitch it."

"He still shoulda told us," said Porthos angrily.

Etienne sighed and continued. "He had tried to clean it, but given the circumstances and its positioning…by the time they arrived here he had lost a lot of blood. There mights be signs of the start of a slight infection – but not bad, all things considered. He's suffering from a fever. I think it's from a combination of things – the exertion of the trip, the loss of blood…plus two weeks on the road can suck the energy from any man."

"Has he eaten anything?" she asked, turning to look at him, her eyes soft.

"There's a broth awaiting him by the hearth. So far he's hasn't come around to take any in though."

She smiled at him and nodded.

Christine looked at the others in the room. She looked at Porthos and smiled sadly. "And what happened to the rest of you?" she said moving towards him.

Porthos returned her smile. "It's nothing. Knife to the calf. That fool spent his energy patching me up instead of dealing with his own injuries. Guillaume too." Christine could hear the hurt and fear that edged his voice and squeezed his hand.

"And D'Artagnan?" she asked turning to look at Treville and Athos.

"He took a pistol blow to the back of the head," said Athos.

"I am here, you know. And I'm feeling much better," grumbled the young musketeer.

"I'll believe that when you can keep down a mug of broth," said Etienne, causing D'Artagnan to pale.

oOo

The night wore on and Aramis' fever worsened. Christine and Athos took turns replacing the warm damp cloths with fresh and cool new ones. When after a few hours and his colour hadn't improved, Christine insisted on trying to coax some food into him to help combat the blood-loss. Athos held him as Christine carefully spooned some broth into him with little success.

Porthos looked on in concern. He had insisted on being moved closer to his brother and so sat by the foot of the bed with his leg propped up on a chair. D'Artagnan was resting. He had been lucid for a few hours, but still felt weak. He was able to eat a little, but was dizzy when he tried to stand.

Dawn broke and Aramis worsened. His body was now overcome by strong trembling.

"Christine…" he moaned feverishly, his eyes moving rapidly behind their lids, his breathing harsh and shallow. At these moments, the only thing that seemed to calm him was the sensation of Christine's hand on his face and her muttering into his ear.

As the trembling grew even more violent as the morning wore on to afternoon, Athos and Etienne were engaged to restrain him. Christine's words were no longer able to penetrate the fevered fog in his mind. They alternated by covering him with a thick blanket as he shuddered from the cold or tossing it off him as his temperature rose.

At some point Porthos fell asleep, but Christine refused to rest. She paled more and more as Aramis shuddered. Etienne watched her warily as he re-entered the infirmary carrying some fresh supplies, followed by Treville.

"Christine," Etienne said softly as he placed a fresh stack of cloths next to her, "You need to rest. You will be no good to him if you too collapse from exhaustion."

Christine glared at him. "I am fine," she said as she reached for the bowl of cool water that rested on the side table next to the linens. Unfortunately, her hands betrayed her in that moment as the bowl clattered to the floor tumbling from her shaking hands. She flushed and bent to tidy the spilled water.

"Christine," said Treville bending next to her and pulling her to her feet. "I insist you rest – Even if it's for only an hour. I will notify you immediately if anything changes, but you need to rest."

"Captain – "

"That's an order Christine. Think of what Aramis would say if I allowed you to go on about the way you are."

Christine frowned at him, her eyes flashing mutinously. His ice-blue eyes met her eyes, which were a steely shade of grey.

"You too Athos," Treville said without looking away from her. "You're both near collapse which helps no one. Escort Christine to Aramis' chamber before getting some rest of your own."

"I promise I'll send for you," said Etienne, a pleading in his voice and eyes.

Christine looked away from the Captain to meet her friend's gaze. "Immediately," she said, and she marched angrily from the infirmary.

oOo


End file.
